Bloodhound on the Scent
by Sir Gwydion
Summary: My version of what happens in Bloodhound. Why has Beka been thrown out of the Dogs? Who is behind the mysterious counterfeit that is beggaring Tortall? And what is their interest in Beka? Soon to thoroughly deserve the T rating.
1. Wednesday, December 9, 246

**Greetings, ye Lords and ye Ladies!**

**Before you start reading, there are a few things I want to make clear about this story.**

**First and foremost, the characters and such belong to Tamora Pierce, not me. **

**Second, this story is what _I_** **imagine will happen in the next Beka Cooper book, not anyone else. (If I get round to it, I intend to write my own version of Elkhound, too). My sister Lizzy might pound correct grammar into it, but she has nothing to do with the actual content.  
**

**Third, this is my first fan fiction, so go easy on me, at least for the first while. I do want people to tell me how they think I could improve it though, and if any parts limp. Just don't bring _all_ my dilutions of authorhood down about my ears, alright?**

**Fourth, this is not a romance-on-every-page story. There is some, but if you are looking for a Beka-and-Rosto-do-nothing- but-snog sort of story, you'll have to look elsewhere.**

**Fifth and finally, the main plot ideas for this and my version of Elkhound come from what Lizzy (the Tamora Pierce addict) has garnered off various sites. Beats me if any of them are real, but I used them anyway.  
**

**Thank you for letting me air my views (there will probably be more, just to warn you). **

**Sir Gwydion**  


Wednesday, December 9, 246

Written before watch.

These past three days have driven me half mad, and every mot, cove, gixie, lad, Rat, Dog, Lord and Lady in Corus is half mad along with me.

A snow storm, the first this season has raged through the city. No one has been able to to leave her house. Not to get food, or to visit friends, or to escape the friends she has been stuck inside with for three poxy days without stretching her poor aching legs.

Aniki, Rosto and I have been at each other's throats. Kora and Ersken have been unbearably sweet on each other. Even walking my watch in snow as deep as my knee will be a joy after this.

Winter is always a bad time for us Dogs. The ground is slick and the folk are restless and ready for mischief.

This morning, when we gathered for breakfast with the first fresh food we've had since the storm started and we were all grinning like fools.

Rosto came into my rooms with a basket of rolls. "The streets are already packed. Beka, be glad you don't have day watch."

"Why?" I asked.

"Oh, no reason." he replied with a nonchalant shrug, and by that I knew by that its Rogue business.

Kora's half-grown cat Fuzzball took that opportunity of distraction to make an ill advised leap at Pounce's tail. My cat swatted his attacker away with a yowl that I will not translate into this journal, so foul was his speech.

Us who live here are the the only ones who have come thus far, the snow is so deep. Even my pigeons are clever enough to stay where ever they go when they aren't pestering me.

I washed the breakfast dishes in melted snow while Aniki dried. She was frowning.

"Sorry the storm's gone already?" I teased.

Her scowl deepened. "No." It was a curt reply.

" Is sommat wrong?"

"No."

"Leave it, Beka." Kora told me. " Aniki's in a temper today."

I shrugged. There were other things to think of then Aniki's foul mood. Much as I would druther have stayed inside, I had a duty to the spinners. When all my guests were gone, I bundled up in hat,gloves, scarf, cloak and extra stockings.

With a mind to Rosto's earlier comment, I kept my guard up, but saw nothing unexpected as I made my way to the corner where Hasfush was. I unknotted a little bundle from my pocket and let its contents trickle to the ground. Quickly, the dirt spiraled up in a gentle swirl. I closed my eyes and stepped forward.

"--Pretty as you please, and twice as sweet--"

"--Made of lead, th bastard. Best fake I ever seen, but th' Dog, he saw it. A'most 'obbled me for the counterfeitin'--"

"--How did 'e even know--"

"Gods an' glory, man. In the cellar, hey? I never--"

On and on it went, a flood of lively talk, gossip, giggles, sobs, and grunts. In each spinner, I heard something new. A drunkard proclaimed his undying love to and alley cat. A sailor from Carthak cursed the air blue. But more often then I should have liked, I heard whispers of false coin. How could a counterfeiter have gotten so far as to have his work be common street talk without the Dogs so much as being put on the alert? By the sound of things, this was already a threat to the Kingdom's pocket. It didn't make sense, neither. Most counterfeit was aimed at a particular person or business, but this seemed to be spread all over Corus. Least ways, all over the parts that visit the Lower City often enough for the spinners to hear their talk.

A whistle sounded, sharp and demanding, through the babble of mots and coves out on the streets. It was a Dog whistle, calling for aid. Instinctively, me hand went to my belt for the baton I wasn't wearing. Regardless, there was a Dog in need of help, so I spun around the corner to the square where the whistle had come from.

A scene of utter pandemonium met my eyes and made my tripes clench. The snow had muffled the noise , but in the square it echoed and boomed. Outside the Whistling Pony, a tavern of bad repute, four Dogs were attempting to separate at least a dozen brawlers. For the first time I began to believe Goodwin, and think that the only Dogs worth their pay are on Evening Watch. The loobies were going about it in completely the wrong way! Instead of cracking a few heads to keep the on lookers quiet, they had forced themselves into the midst of the fray, and were being battered brutally. I suppose most folk take at least until noon to get drunk, but still, one would think that they would know how to deal with a brawl.

A pair of doxies clung to each other, shrieking, obviously delighted to be terrified. More tosspots then I could count egged the fighters on and joined in intermittently. Bets were called, insults bellowed, and the snow was churned and bloodied.

A huge bull faced cove thumped one of the Dogs on the side of her head. The mot's eyes rolled up, and she crumpled. I lunged in and dragged her out of harm's way, then took her baton. I felt better with it in my hand. I was not in uniform, but now I was known for a Dog.

The drunk who had struck the Dog in the head tried the same trick on me, and I'm shamed to say it almost worked. I leaned back so his missed my temple, but he got my cheekbone hard before I could strike his cracked nob with my baton.

It was madness. Somewhere along the line, my eye got blacked, my lip split, my nose bloodied and my wrist broken. The blood from my nose rolled down the back of my throat, making me feeling queasy. We Dogs sent the drunken loobies about their business in the end, though.

"Good on ye, Cooper," said one of the Dogs. " Do y' need help to get back to the Kennel?"

I shook my head, leaning back and pinching my nose to stop the bleeding. He shrugged, and shouldered the mot whose baton I'd borrowed. They all headed off towards the Kennel to get the mot's head looked at. When my nose stopped bleeding, I dragged myself off after them to have my wrist fixed by the healer there. I grimaced. He wasn't too good with bones, and I would probably need to wear a splint for a few days.

It was an hour later when I limped back to my rooms at Rosto's Dancing Dove. I went in the back way so as to avoid the Court of the Rogue having a laugh at the dented Dog. As I had feared, I had to wear a splint. Pounce is scolding me now for not telling him before getting myself in a fight so he could come too. My wrist aches. I think I will take a nap, then go visit Kora before going on my Watch.

Written after Watch.

Kora and I sat for a while in her rooms doing out mending. She's no mind to sitting in on Rogue business, or playing dice and drinking like Aniki does. She only shook her head at my bruises. She is used to them appearing.

"What's bothering Aniki, to make her so cross?" I asked, darning a stocking more full of holes then a foist's alibi.

"I don't know," Kora told me, thoughtful like. "I think she's had enough of the Court, and Rosto's rule. She told me she wants to go see the rest of this Tortall of yours. She told Rosto so over the summer, but he told her to stay here. She hasn't liked Corus half so well since Rosto became the Rogue. She wants a challenge, something to use that sword of hers for."

After some time, I had to go get changed into uniform for baton practice with Ahuda. Pounce will not come on Watch with me. He hates the cold and the wet.

I was planning to sneak out the back again with no Rat the wiser of my injuries, but it seemed the Rogue had been in one of the back rooms, talking business with a burly rusher and his equally hard-looking mots, and I almost walked into them, but just in time, I ducked back behind the corner. The rushers didn't see me, but Rosto did. He's a canny one, he is. He spoke softly to the cove and mots a minute, then they trooped back into the common room.

He stepped around the corner, eyebrows raised, and took in my appearance slowly. My curst shyness made me blush and look down. Rosto laughed. "Now Beka, who have you been playing with, to black your eye?"

To my own surprise, I looked up and grinned, splitting my lip again. "Day Watch and some taven drunks." I wiped the blood from my lip.

He laughed again. "Never say I didn't warn you."

I ducked my head and made to run out the door, but he caught my arm, I winced: it was my splinted left one. I cocked my head to the side questioningly. "I'm going to be late for baton practice."

"Gods forbid that I should keep you from one minute of being beaten to a pulp by that vicious little Ahuda, but I need to talk to you." He pulled me into the room where he'd been talking with the rushers and closed the door. Quietly, he asked, "Have you any thought as to who is behind this counterfeiting?

I wouldn't ask, but I've never seen it so bad."

This being Dog business, my Dog sense took charge. Why would a Rat ask a Dog about Rat business? Much less the King Rat? I couldn't say as much aloud, so I tried to get at it in a left handed way. "Meaning, your folk aren't behind it?"

He saw right through me. _Obviously not_, his black eyes seemed to say, mocking me. "No, they aren't, or why would I be asking you? I don't make it a habit to ask the nearest Dog what I'm about. They tend to take offense and throw me in the cages. If the Court were behind this, I'd be a bigger fool then Kayfer Deerborn ever was. Its beggaring the Rogue. No ideas, even for an extra bit in the Happy Bag?"

"I never heard of it till I listened to the spinners just this morning. There's no word out to the Dogs, no warnings to check coin before you accept it of to be on the look out for counterfeiters. Nothing."

Rosto looked thoughtful a moment, then tweaked my nose. "Fancy that. A crime in the Lower City which Beka Cooper didn't know about the second it happened." I scowled, but he leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose, wicked cove that he is, and was gone. I touched my fingers the the place his lips had brushed my skin. I shook my head to clear the fool notions from it, and ran off to the Kennel as quickly as I could, sliding on the icy streets. A pox on this queer feeling in my chest.

After practice, Tunstall, Goodwin and I walked our rounds. When she saw me, Goodwin said, "The idea is you wait until your _own_ watch to get beat up, Cooper."

I remember stopping three more tavern brawls (Blessed, competent Evening Watch!), a nasty argument between two Rats over a pretty doxie, and an untold number of pickpockets and minor thieves. Tunstall said it was the cold and the healing that have made me so tired tonight. I was so weary that by mistake I got into the Dancing Dove by the front entrance. The Rats stared for a moment at this unexpected intrusion from a Dog, albeit a Puppy. I blinked, stifled a yawn, and made my way out of the common room, too tired to care that they were hooting with laughter.

I made myself write this down while it is still fresh in my mind, but now my lovely warn cat is yowling at me to go to bed before I faint and he has to go out onto the cold landing to fetch some one to carry me there.

Some unpleasant time betwixt very late and very early.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I woke with a stale, unrested feeling to see that it wasn't yet dawn. Another thump sent me to my feet and Pounce to the shutters. I joined him and unlatched the one as was being hit by sommat. In flew a pigeon, a new one I'd never seen before, all sleek blue-black and copper.

Generally, I like pigeons, for themselves and for the news of the ghosts they carry, but I am not fond of pigeon visits at middle night. I seized him and held him against me. I opened my fool mouth and began to scold the mumper, until I heard the whisper of a ghost, quiet but strong: this ghost was old, but not letting go.

"Curse her, curse her!" the voice was a woman's, and accented with a Carthaki's liquid smoothness. "Scheming wretch! The foul creature will suffer yet, and by my hand!"

"Who?" I asked, trying to keep annoyance from my voice. Ghost seem to pick up on how I feel, and react to it. When it didn't reply, I repeated the question, but the pigeon squirmed and broke free of my grip. He struck out at me with a strong wing, hitting my splinted wrist. I heard a snap from the still mending bones, then pain sparked behind my eyes.

"Sarden pigeon!" I yelled. The pigeon flew in circles around my head, cawing triumphantly.

My door banged open and some one rushed through to my bedroom. The poxy bird landed on my freshly broken wrist, jarring it so hard I yelped. A hand touched my shoulder as I sat back down on the bed, before I fell.

Footsteps on the stairs, and Kora and Aniki tumbled into the room, knives at the ready. So it must have been Rosto who came in first. Figured, since he and Aniki swapped rooms so he could be on the upper floor and there by harder to be murdered in his sleep. Being the Rogue must be hard.

"Curst pigeon," I mumbled.

"Midnight pigeons?" Aniki asked.

"Vicious pigeons," I said, and let Kora look at my wrist. She has splinted it again, now. All I can say is I wish most heartily never to see that pigeon (I named him Boner) again. I have to see the Healer again tomorrow, but for now, I can finish my sleep in relative comfort, because of an ointment Kora put on it to stop the pain.

I have good friends.


	2. Thursday, December 10, 246

**Gentles, I welcome you. **

**Forgive me for this chapter which-- no, I'll make my excuses at the end, when they'll make sense. Too, Lizzy says its always better to grovel _after_ the people are mad. If you liked it, then ignore the explanation at the bottom, and go ahead and tell me I'm paranoid. **

**But for the moment, I would like to thank you for your reviews (my first ever!). **

**Lady Wolf, I would like to say that _that _particular reason for moving Rosto never crossed my mind. Such is the innocence of youth. When reading the book, it drove me crazy that he was on the bottom floor, and thereby easier to murder. After all, he's the one who'd be the most likely assassin target. Its_ my _story, I thought. Why not change it?**

**Now I am proud to present the fruit of my past three day's labor. Enjoy. **

**Sir Gwydion**

Thursday, December 10, 246

Written at night's end.

I can scarce begin to tell of today's happenings. My world has been turned on its head, and I do not wish to write, but I know when I have done, I will feel better for the telling.

Breakfast was a noisy affair, with several Rat friends of Aniki's joking and Aniki herself drawn out of her black mood by their merriment. Laddybuck and Fuzzball pestered Pounce insensately to the amusement of all save my poor cat.

A bellow out side the Dancing Dove interupted Rosto telling us a story of the Scanran Rogue. "_Puppy Cooper at the Dancing Dove!_"

I poked my head out the window. Below, rubbing his hands together to warm them, was a runner lad with the Provost's symbol. "Yes?"

"You are to report to your Kennel on Sergeant Ahuda's orders," he recited. "She says to come immediately and no excuses."

"Thank you!" I called down, and tossed the lad a copper. He turned and trotted off to deliver his next message.

"For Mithros's sake and mine, close the shutters Beka!" Ersken complained. "Its freezing out there!" Phelan nodded his fervent agreement.

"You do it," I told him. "I've got to go to the Kennel, if you didn't hear."

I raced into the bedroom portion of my rooms and pulled on my uniform, not that you can see it too well through all the cold weather things I have to wear so as to not turn into an icicle.

"Lock the door when your done, please," I said, and handed Kora my key before dashing out the door. "Goodbye!" I yelled at the now closed window shutters. A hand appeared briefly and waved before retreating into the warmth again.

My Dogs were waiting at the Jane Street Kennel. Luckily for me, the Night Watch mage hadn't left yet. Though he is useless for most everything else (like all Night Watch), he can heal bones well enough, so my wrist was fixed properly with no splint. As soon as he had finished, Ahuda beckoned me and my Dogs into office.

"Cooper," she said as soon as the door was closed. Her tone was gentler then I had heard it since Verene's funeral. "You are dismissed from the Provost's Guard."

I stared at her. I blinked. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Even if I could have spoken, I couldn't have thought of anything to say.

"On what grounds?" hissed Goodwin.

"On account of unbefitting fraternization with members of the Court of the Rogue."

There was a cold hollow inside me where my stomach used to be and a pressure on my ears, like the silence after an explosion.

"That's ridiculous!" Tunstall bellowed. "Mayhap thats an offense in Highfields or Unicorn District, but you can't be in the Lower City without walking cheek by jowl with Rats! You can't throw her out of the Dogs because the Gods-cursed Rogue bought her boarding house!"

Suddenly the numb feeling abandoned me. I couldn't bear to be here and not belong. I stood, my legs feeling detached, like they belonged to someone else. Then I turned and ran.

From the Journal

of

Mattias Tunstall

December 10, 246

Beka's eyes were like ice as she ran out the door.

Clary sat in silence, to angry to speak for the moment. I jumped to my feet and let out an incoherent yell of rage.

'Calm down, Guardsman Tunstall,' Ahuda told me. I stalked out and sat down, rubbing my temples to rid them of the sudden ache that tortured me. Why dismiss Beka? _Beka_, who was my Lord Provost's own foster daughter and the most promising Puppy in the litter?

A few minutes later, Clary and Ahuda followed me.

'Regardless, I think you've used our Puppy very ill,' she said.

I growled.

'Don't tell him until he's stopped looking like a thunder cloud,' Ahuda ordered, and we left.

'What is the name of all the Gods is going on, Clary?' I asked.

She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. 'I don't understand it myself, and I can't tell you. You heard Ahuda: not till you calm down.'

'But-'

'Hush Mattes! I don't like it any more then you do.'

We wandered about until our bellies rumbled, then sat at the Mantel and Pullet, picking at our food.

'What do you suppose she'll do now?' I asked.

Clary jumped to her feet like a cat that's had its tail stomped. 'Mattes, we've got to find her, in case. . .'

_That_ thought dumped ice down my spine. The gixie had her heart so set on being a Dog.

'I'll go to the Provost's, you look at the Dancing Dove,' my partner said.

I nodded, and Clary and I ran our separate ways. After some time and many falls courtesy of the icy streets later, I burst into the Dancing Dove, where Rosto the Piper held Court.

'Is she here?' I practically bellowed.

'Beka? No, she left for her Kennel hours ago,' the Rogue told me, whilst his Rats glared.

I turned about on my heel and strode out, to meet Clary and, I pray to Mithros, Beka at the Mantel and Pullet.

---------------------

I don't know how long I ran, but it was long enough for me to be black and blue with bruises from slipping on the ice. I was not too far from the North Gate, by the Olorun River. Its dirty waters ran past me sluggishly, only free of ice at the center. I picked up a filthy rock from the bank and threw it as hard as I could, but the frozen layer didn't shatter. It was getting dark, only the glow of the setting sun above the city wall illuminating the streets. Another minute and it was utterly black, save for the light of lanterns and fires leaking through windows.

It took me near an hour of trudging through the snowy streets to get back to the Dancing Dove, shivering and soaked with sweat and melted snow. When I did get there, I was bone weary. I went in the back and climbed the stairs quietly. To my surprise, I found the door to my rooms was open. Kora and Aniki sat on my floor, looking worried. I could scarce see them, the candle had burned so low. When they saw me, they jumped up.

"Beka, what's going on?" Kora asked me. "Tunstall came charging in here like a mad bull, demanding to know where you were. You're a mess! _What is going on?_"

I sat down on the edge of my bed, and after a moment's silence, I spoke. My voice sounded hoarse and very, very small. "I've been thrown out of the Dogs."

"Gaersnav," Aniki swore in Scanran.

"For fraternizing with Rats. But in the Lower City, its only an excuse to get rid of a Dog they don't want. They could just as easily dismiss Tunstall or Goodwin." I had that same cold feeling I get when I'm angry, but different, in a way. Deeper. The candle dipped and guttered out.

Light footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Rosto said, "I got away as soon as I could. Is she back yet?"

"Aye," I said.

"What--" He began, but Aniki pulled him roughly out the door, where I could hear her lowered voice as a faint hum.

Kora sat down next to me on the bed and hugged me. I turned my face into her shoulder. It was nice, to feel something warm. Rosto and Aniki came back in. He sat on my other side, and rubbed comforting circles into my back. "I always told you you'd make a good rusher," He said as gently as I've ever heard him speak.

"I can't be a rusher," I said with a humorless laugh. "I'd a'ways want t' hobble meself." I slipped back into the Lower City cant I'd lost at my Lord Provost's house. My breath was coming in jagged gasps as I fought for self control.

"Go ahead and cry, Beka." I'm not sure who said it, but I dropped my face into my hands and sobbed, because my whole life disappeared when Ahuda spoke those words.

I cried for a long time, curled up on my bed, Pounce purring at my back to comfort me as he has always done. I heard the soft steps of my friends coming in and out. At last, I fell asleep.

When I woke, it was still dark, but some one had lit a new candle. With out moving, I looked around. There, curled asleep on the floor, were Kora and Aniki. Draped across the end of my bed was Rosto. When I shifted slightly, he jumped up, knife in hand. I sat up and looked at him. Something had changed while I slept.

"I'll do it," I told him. "I'll go crooked."

He nodded, black eyes inscrutable. Then he shook Kora and Aniki awake, and they left me alone to write in this journal.

Have I done the right thing? What _is _the right thing to do when your life disappears? I am not certain, but I choose to do something, _anything_. My Lord once told me that the worst thing you can do in a difficult situation is nothing, and I do not intend to make that mistake.

Somehow, I will prove to the Dogs that I am not a bad Dog. Somehow I will get them to take me back.

**This where the groveling and apologizing comes, yes? Well, I've actually changed my mind about that and have decided to explain, instead. **

**This is not a story about Beka turning into a Rat. It is a story which includes Beka getting thrown out of the Dogs and what she does with that. There's a difference. Believe me. You should see the outline. **

**Lizzy says _she'll_ grovel, even if I won't. She begs you to bear with me, the unruly Gwydion. She also says to say 'just wait until Midwinter. . . . '**

**With that, I bid you farewell. **

**Sir Gwydion.**


	3. Friday, December 11, 246

**Welcome one, welcome all!**

**Wow. . . it would seem that I misjudged peoples attachment to Beka's moral rectitude. That's what all the paranoia was about. But it would seem that no one wants to kill me--yet. **

** I should apologize for the Tunstall bit last time. Lizzy said that it was kind of pointless and interrupted the narrative, but I liked it, so I ignored her. I'll explain now, to save time later because its bound to come up again, I have a weakness for foreshadowing. I love seeing if people can guess whats going to happen and dropping hints all over the place. It's my Achilles' heel. There is a bit of foreshadowing there which I didn't want to give up. I'll try not to let it happen again, and Lizzy promises to hunt down a frog and put it in my bed if I ever ignore her again on such a big point again. I, Gwydion the prideful, have come as close to groveling as I will. **

**Thanks for the reviews, and enjoy!**

** Sir Gwydion**

Friday, December 11, 246

Written afore dark.

It was snowing again when I woke. Not the heavy, thick flakes of the previous storm, but small grains of ice that make a gentle rasping noise as they land. I had just got up and dressed when some one pounded on my door. I opened it to let Tunstall and Goodwin in.

"Gods, Cooper," Tunstall said, sighing with relief when he saw me. "We were afeared we'd lost you to the Black God's Option."

I knew of no pleasant way to say what I needed to, so I decided to get it out at once. "Tunstall, Goodwin," I looked them each in the eye. "I'm joining the Court of the Rogue."

_"What?"_ thundered Goodwin.

"Better crooked then a Dog without a watch," I said.

"Nonsense!"

"What else can I do with my training, Goodwin? What else do I understand? I can't be a blacksmith or a priestess or a baker. I would never have left the Dogs had it been my choice, but it wasn't. I was tossed out on my ear and well you know it. I don't know why, and I don't think you do either. But I will not be a languishing grocer dreaming of Dog work or a baker in mourning for the life she had. It doesn't mean I'm becoming a murderer. There are Dogs worse then some Rats."

"Cooper, you can't go crooked just because you aren't a Dog," Goodwin told me.

I shook my head, knowing they would never understand till it happened to them.

"Come on, Clary. Let's go," said Tunstall. He looked down at me. "You don't have to do this, Beka."

In the face of my silence, he sighed and left, pulling Goodwin along behind him.

Am I doing right? No that sort of thinking will only drive me mad. I am doing what I must. _Better crooked then a Dog without a watch._

Since I am to be one of his subjects now, Rosto had me go for a walk with him after breakfast, to find out what I know of the Rat's art and mayhap demonstrate it. I was a bit preoccupied, from talking to Goodwin and Tunstall as well as wondering incessantly about the pigeon, Boner, and my dismissal from the Dogs. It was too snowy out for pigeons, Tunstall and Goodwin were busy with whatever they do off duty, and my dismissal has no prospect of being explained. I tried to focus on the folk in the street. A mot in a faded blue dress bought bread from a stall. Her son played with the baker's dog, teasing him with a piece of rope.

"I know you're good in a fight, so we needn't find any brawls." Rosto said, making me jump though his voice wasn't loud. "Show me how you pick a pocket."

I swallowed hard, telling the still-persistent Dog in me to quiet down. At my heel, Pounce mewed, _Either you're going to do this or you aren't. Make up your mind quickly. Its cold out here!_

I glared at my cat. "If your going to whine, you shouldn't have come."

"Beka, the task at hand, if you would," Rosto said.

"Right," I breathed. A round cove with an air of the tavern-till-dawn about him was coming our way. A heavy purse at his belt suggested success at the dice table. As we passed him, I slipped my hand out, loosening the purses ties with feather light tugs and reached delicately inside.

I palmed a hand full of coppers to Rosto . He whistled. "You never learned that at the Kennel."

"You're forgetting," my voice was very quiet. "Eight years I lived on Mutt Piddle Lane, with four little ones and a sick mama to feed. "

He nodded, considering. Then he asked, "Lock picking?"

It was my turn to nod.

"Bigger thieving, from shops and so?"

He drilled me on every kind of theft, slight of hand, and knife tricking. He seemed pleased with the extent of my knowledge.

"Hairden has already said he wants you for his guard, for all you're new and fresh from the Dogs. Told me he saw you in a fight with river dodgers at the equinox. 'I don't care if she's scummer for brains, so as she'll fight like that at need,' is what he said. He's a hard cove, and mean with it, but he's in charge of the Lower City. D'you want the job?"

I thought it over. Hairden _was_ known for his cruelty, but if I was going to be the new mot at Court just turned from the right side of the law, I'd druther be the new mot in familiar territory then one who's lost.

"Yes, " I told him simply.

Since it was a long time since breakfast, Rosto bought us some sausage rolls for lunch with the money I filched.

It is almost time for me to go down to the Dancing Dove's common room room now, to face my new master.

I think I am going to be sick.

At Night's end

I _was _sick. I cleaned myself up and seized Pounce before turning to the door. My cat wriggled from my grasp, telling me, _I'm not coming. I won't always be around to help. You need to learn to do things on your own. Besides, its not dignified to be carried about like a child's doll._

"Please," I begged. Pounce flicked his tail meaningfully toward the door and _mrt_ed sternly at me.

The tavern of the Dancing Dove is never empty. There is always some one drinking or gambling or sleeping off his drink, or if all else fail, the cook, Gafell (he is a narrow, melancholy cove, not at all what one would think of for a tavern cook). At the back of the spacious common room is a large, comfortable chair, the Rogue's throne. It is set between two doors, and near the fireplace. The left door leads to the kitchen, the right one to the back rooms and stairs. If I hadn't been living here the whole time Rosto was having it done out as a tavern, I wouldn't know about all the hidden eye-holes and passages, or the stash or weapons in the hollowed back and arms of the throne.

When I walked in the back, there wasn't any fuss, as I was wearing normal street clothes. Smoke drifted in gentle clouds and the air thrummed with the merry sound of talk and laughter. Tankards clinked and gave off the the smell of strong ale and heady wine.

Hairden and his rushers sat at a table near the entrance. I squared my shoulders and walked over to them, feel Rosto, Aniki and Kora's eyes on my back.

The chief of the Lower City looked up at me from beneath heavy dark brows, flecked with white. "Cooper?"

I could only nod and rub my sweaty palms on my breeches.

"Well, she's a pretty enough mot, I'll give you that," muttered a cove with dancing brown eyes and handsome, regular features.

"Leave her be, Tiron," said a Rat I knew, Quickfingers. "From what I hear, she's the Rogue's gixie."

I flushed. "I'm no more the Rogue's then you're a dancing bear, 'Fingers. I'm my own gixie, no one else's."

"How 'bout being mine, then?" asked Tiron with a flirty smile.

My eyes could no longer resist the pull of the floor.

"Be still man," said Hairden. His voice was harsh and low. "Woo her if you must, but off duty. Look at me, gixie." I tried. "I don't care that your the Puppy who brought down the Shadow Snake, and I don't care that that your the Provost's favorite. Whilst your in my service, you're no more 'n a mot fresh from the Kennel with _everything_ to prove. Am I understood?"

I settled for staring over his shoulder at the wall, my hands clasped behind my back. "Yes sir."

"Now sit you down and keep your gob shut."

"Yes, sir." I sat and tried as hard as I could not to look noticeable.

"'Ello, Beka!" roared 'Fingers, clapping me on the back. "Good to see you on the far side of the law. This 'ere am-or-us fellow be Tiron. Th' 'uge cove o'er thar be Gore, this is Inknose, and them two mots o'er thar be Layla Blue-Eyes -- she's the 'un with th' burn on 'er face, -- and t'other's Matta, a mage, though not much of' 'un. Only little spells, 'n such. All of us is Hairden's guard, like you, lass."

A ripple buzzed through the Court, and I turned to the entrance. Tunstall stood there with Goodwin at his side, her hand on her baton. For an awful moment, I thought they had come to haul me away to my Lord Provost. Then I remembered that yesterday was the day for the Happy Bag, and they'd missed it in looking for me.

"So," said Rosto. "The Dogs are here to be fed. Come."

Goodwin followed him to one of the rooms in the back, but Tunstall glanced around the room, caught sight of me, and wandered over. "Cooper, a word?"

I looked at Hairden, who waved me away.

Tunstall towed me out the door and onto the street. It was cold out, and our breathe came out in smoky puffs.

"Alright, Cooper. I can understand that you're not feeling too friendly to us Dogs at the moment. Ox's eggs, I wouldn't blame you if you called the lot of us lack-wits to our faces. But Clary and me, we wanted you to know that just because Ahuda was ordered -- yes, she was ordered, I don't know by who -- to turn you out of the Kennel, we haven't lost our trust in you. Sabine and Ersken feel the same. I'm not asking you to quit the Rogue. We're not asking you to quit the Rogue, Clary and I have talked about it, and it was wrong to come down on you for going crooked. We understand that Dogs and Rats live in the same world, and you've lived in that world too long to leave it now. Just don't forget us. Come eat with us at the Mantel and Pullet now and again. And don't let me catch you with your ticklers in a purse," he finished, and blinked down at me with an owlish look.

I could only nod, and study the toes of my boots.

Goodwin emerged from the Dancing Dove, carrying a heavy sack: the Rogue's gold. "Cooper," she said by way of greeting and farewell. She and Tunstall continued down the street. I went back inside.

Soon, Hairden finished his ale, and we wandered through the Lower City. I was shocked at the aimlessness of out path. After a few hour of pointless meandering, Hairden headed for his habitual tavern, the Barrel and Jack.

Hairden's guard is wary of me yet, so I didn't stay long after he dismissed us. Mayhap they will be easier with me tomorrow.

I came home through the cold to write this journal. By rights, I should go to bed, but I can't. Thoughts are running around in my head like mad squirrels. I must get rid of this guilty feeling, somehow. Pox rot it, if I can't be a Dog, the least I can do is be a cheerful Rat.

Boner. What of that pigeon? Whose ghost does he carry? It felt old, almost as old as I have ever seen, but stronger then any, to cling to her vengeance so.

But now I am making excuses to myself. I _will_ go to bed, and I _will _sleep. I am not ashamed of what I do. _Better crooked then a Dog without a watch._


	4. Saturday, December 12, 246

**Hear ye, hear ye!**

**I've nothing much to say, but I want to make one thing clear: I am a novice writer fumbling along as best she can with the assistance of her sister, the novice editor Lizzy. I need your advice! I really appreciate it, and always try to follow it. No, that doesn't mean that if you say 'I think a purple squirrel would vastly improve the story line,' one will appear in the next journal entry, but, anyway, I could use the critique. **

**Enjoy! **

**Sir Gwydion**

Saturday, December 12, 246

Written afore midnight.

My pigeons woke me today, ramming into the shutters. I moaned and curled up under my blankets. Pounce wouldn't have that though, and _mrt_ed and pawed at me until I got up and opened them. Though I looked for him, I saw neither hide nor hair of Boner. Curse all pigeons who make me curious and then don't show up.

A knock sounded at my door, and I opened it to let in Kora, Ersken, and Aniki. Kora locked the door behind her. She had a look of mischief in her eye and in her cat-smile. I have an unhappy love for mischief, so, cracked as I am, I was feeling excited.

"Listen, Aniki told me quietly, a pleasant tension in her voice. "We need your help. We're, _ow!"_ Slapper has bitten her ear. She rubbed the spot. I haven't seen her in so good a mood for weeks. "Do you have to let the nasty birds in _every _morning? Never mind." She looked at me with bright eyes, a grin tugging at her mouth. "I'm going away. On Rosto's orders."

I blinked. "I thought he told you to stay here."

"Oh, he did," Kora smiled. But he's going to change is mind." And she leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

A few minutes later, Rosto and Phelan (a fellow conspirator) came in with a stack of apple pasties to find us innocently eating breakfast, whilst Pounce prowled about, mewing in plain cat.

"Good morning," Kora said cheerfully.

Rosto sat down, and passed around the pasties.

Idly, I said, "I hear there's some trouble in Port Caynn, mayhap Port Legann too."

"What sort of trouble?" asked Rosto .

"Oh, just trouble," I shrugged. "I didn't hear aught else."

"I heard that there's a lot of theft and suchlike, from a trader just up from Port Caynn." Aniki fingered the hilt of her sword.

Rosto frowned. "I didn't hear anything. That's the trouble with being the Rogue: no one wants to tell you the gossip lest you take offense and tell 'em so with the point of your dagger."

"Even I heard something like that, and I'm just a Puppy." Ersken told him.

"Mayhap I need to get out of Corus, visit my subjects elsewhere if they are being injudicious in their thieving."

"You can't leave, Rosto! Not just before Midwinter," said Phelan. "Not unless you want to be a dead Rogue."

"I _am _rather fond of my head being where it is and my throat un-slit, but I can't sit here while my rule slips."

"You could always send someone you trust to sort it out," Ersken suggested. "Luk Phe-un nor Amifee," That last through a mouthful of pasty.

"But of course not Kora. Never her," Aniki teased, and Ersken glared at her.

"Kora doesn't make sense," Rosto said absently. "Not loud or important enough. Too subtle to make a big impression, and I need Phelan here. . . ." Suddenly, his black eyes focused on Aniki and he shouted, "You scheming, manipulative, poxy, sarden -- " His jaw worked, but no words came out. When he was able to speak again, it came out in a harsh whisper. "One of you -- I don't care which -- tell me whether there actually is any trouble, _now._"

Kora seemed quite unaffected by his wrath. "There are rumors, if not so big as we made them. Really Rosto, you ought to let her go."

Bold black and copper caught my eye, and I missed the next words. Boner! Quickly, I got up, and held out some crumbled bread to the bird. As soon as he was busy, I grabbed him.

"Curse you!" That smooth Carthaki voice filled my ears. "And never again to live! I shall have my revenge." Interest and confusion grappled in my mind. It was seldom that a ghost adressed me directly, and I could see no reson for this one to do so now.

"Beka, are you even listening to me?"

I blinked up at Aniki. "Sorry?"

"I'm going to Port Caynn, and mayhap Legann, and all over Tortall! Rosto _had _to let me go!"

"That's. . . ." I dragged myself away from thoughts of the Carthaki mot's ghost. "That's great. Agh!" Boner had bitten me betwixt my thumb and finger.

"That's the one that broke your wrist, isn't it?"

I nodded, and let him fly out the window. Everyone but Aniki was gone. I felt too preoccupied to be really interested, but I gave her a quick hug.

This evening, I learned that last night was a quiet one. We guards do get to do summat other then walk around the Lower City feeling fair foolish. We get to assist in robberies and the like. Not by doing the actual work, though. We get to stand guard whilst those Hairden trusts do the work. I have learned that I am expected only to look intimidating, keep a sharp eye out while Hairden's favorites go about their business, and be ready for a fight. I fail to meet the first of these requirements, so Hairden glares at me, but I know he won't throw me out, because he knows that I can take care of any one who might be a problem quickly and without a fuss, just like we did with the lesser thieves in the Dogs. Still, he gives me the oddest looks, sometimes.

So far, I have only had to call the warning ('Sharp daggers and steady hands!') once, but the pair of Dogs didn't see us. After two, mayhap two and a half hours, Hairden headed for the Barrel and Jack, where he got roaring drunk.

After I got my barley water, I went over and sat next to Layla Blue-Eyes, who seemed the least hostile, or, in the case of Tiron, likely to be too invasive. She told me about how she used to be a doxie, but turned crooked when half her face got burned in a fire. When you look at her from one side, you can still see how beautiful she was, tall, with black hair and fair, creamy skin. Her eyes the bluest I have ever seen. Matta came over to talk to Layla about a mot they both knew, and I took that as my cue to look else where for conversation. Those two seem opposites, one tall with dark hair, the other short, plump and blond.

Gore came down and sat next to me. He didn't say anything, for he's almost as shy as I am. It sits strangely on a cove as big and strong-looking as he is, but his eyes are as gentle as any deer's. We sat in companionable silence until I finished my barley water, then I excused myself. Afore I could escape, 'Fingers called me over, looking distressed. He had been talking to Inknose, who might just as easily by called 'Ink,' so stained is his skin. He works as a respectable scribe during the day.

"Why aren't you drinking anything?" asked Quickfingers, sounding affronted.

"I don't like it," I told him.

"Don't like it?" He roared.

"No."

"What 'ave they dun t'ye, gixie?"

That puzzled me a moment, then I remembered that 'Fingers was a regular carouser, and took offence at anyone who didn't get drunk at least twice a week. His ruddy face should have reminded me sooner. I cursed myself for not paying attention. He must already like me, or else it would be me to blame, not 'they.' I franticly tried to think of a reason not to drink that would appease him.

"Never mind that," said Inknose impatiently, inadvertently saving me from the unpleasant situation. I shall not escape so easily next time, but at least I have more time to think. "What should I do? I haven't the money to pay off the Dogs."

I left the tavern as quickly as I could. They are not easy with me, nor I with them, and betwixt the two, I'd druther have a good night's sleep.

That though hurt, though: the Dogs don't want me and the Rats don't trust me. But then, Rats don't really trust anyone.

Do _I _even trust anyone? Am I as bad as the Rats?

No. I trust a lot of people. I trust my Lord Provost and Mya and my brothers and sisters and Granny Fern and Tansy and Herun and Goodwin and Tunstall and Ersken and Kora and Aniki and, Gods help me, I even trust Rosto. Mayhap it is myself I do not trust.

I have had a thought, one that was a long time in coming. I will go to my Lord Provost's tomorrow, and ask him why I was dismissed from the guard. I will not enjoy facing him as a Rat, but I must know, and if any one can tell me, he can. I only hope he _will._


	5. Sunday, December 13, 246

**Here you are, my Lairdlings!**

**This is my favorite chapter so far. Lizzy says Midwinter is better, but then, she's attached to it. (I write this stuff down on paper first, then type it up as I get the chance, so though I'm just getting started with _Bloodhound on the Scent_ now, I'm in the midst of writing my version of _Elkhound_ ). **

**Can anyone tell me what a 'beta' is on this site? I've seen it several places, but never any explanation. Lizzy says its like a second in a duel, they carry on if the reviewers kill you. I _think_ she was joking.**

**I hope you like this journal entry as much as I do!**

**Sir Gwydion**

Sunday, December 13, 246

Written a little after midnight.

This morning I woke before dawn, and put on a dress. For the first time since I became a Puppy, I left my hair down. It surprised me how long it had grown, past my waist and thick with it. I scrawled a quick note saying I was out to the others, then left it and my contribution to breakfast outside Rosto's door.

It is a long walk to my Lord Provost's house, so the sun was well up by the time I reached the gates. Pausing first to send brief prayers to Mithros and the Goddess, and after a moments thought, the Crooked God (he _is_ a patron to both Rats and Dogs), I called out a greeting to Jakorn, who always has morning guard duty. I was ready for him to be mad, or worse, disappointed, but he only hugged me about the shoulders and let me in.

I found Mya in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour and dough. "Beka, love, what brings you here today?"

I kissed her cheek. "Why, to see you and you alone, Auntie."

She raised a flour streaked brow and smiled. It was good to know that there were two people, at least, who didn't blame me for following the Court of the Rogue. "I'm here to see Nilo, Will, Diona and Lorine, and you and Jakorn, but mostly to ask my Lord why -- why I was thrown out of the Dogs."

Mya left off kneading the dough and gave me a warm, powdery hug. "Poor Beka. We all know how you had your heart set on being a Dog."

"I've given up crying over that, Mya. It hurts, but it don't help to feel sorry for myself."

"And that is how it should be. I'm fair proud to here you say it. Now," she dusted off her hands purposefully. "Do you want me to see what can be done to get Diona and Lorine out to the stables, so you needn't have my gracious Lady's most gracious nose turned up at you?"

There is no one in the world like Mya.

I managed to sneak into the stables without being seen. My brothers were both there, and we went to sit in the loft to wait for our sisters. Nilo looked confused, Will solemn. We all three sat shredding hay, pulling off the little seed and breathing in the sweet, warm smell of it. A few moments later, Lorine came, with Diona behind her. She looked sad, weary. Diona's expression was difficult to read. There was something cold and hard in her eyes, and she looked, almost vindictive, or triumphant.

"What're you going to do now, Beka?" Will asked, braiding three stems of hay. It seemed very quiet, for all the noise and clatter beneath us.

"I can't be a Dog, but I'm trained to a Dog's business and no other, so--"

"I'm sure my Lady will accept your apology," Diona interrupted, with that queer, savage smile. "And find you some work at whatever you're still fit for."

"I have no intention of casting myself on my Lady Teodorie's charity," I told them. "I have work."

"What can you do, other then brawl in the streets with the other Lower City trash?" she sneered. "But I forgot! You live in the _Lower City_ now, and a girl of fine enough face and figure can always find _some_ work there."

Sister or no, that made my blood boil. My cheeks burned, but I kept my voice even. "I've no work of the sort you're talking of, and I will never, ever take it up. I have work at the Court."

I realized my mistake when Diona's eyes bugged and the others beamed incredulously. They live in Patten District, where the only Court is King Roger's.

"Not that court, not the King's." I told the m hastily. "I'm working as a district chief's guard in the Court of the Rogue."

The cord of Diona's throat stood out, and she whispered, as if she had been struck true in the stomach with a good baton, "I'd rather you were a doxie, oh, I'd rather you were dead then a _rusher._" She fled, careless of here skirts on the rough ladder to the stable below.

"Well, " I said awkwardly into the silence. "I must go see my Lord Gershom now. I'll try to come and see you are much as I can. I love you all. " I kissed them each on the cheek, then followed Diona down the ladder, but not all the way to my Lady.

Before I entered the great house, I beat the hay dust and snow from my skirt and straightened my dark gold hair. It felt so strange, loose. I wished I'd polished my boots, but I hadn't and there was nothing to be done now. I walked through the neat corridors to my Lord's chambers.

Lord Gershom of Haryse was reading through a great stack of papers. He looked tired and worried. At my knock on the open door frame, he looked up and gave me a wan smile.

"I thought you would be coming here soon," he said. My Lord has a deep, rich voice. "Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

Patten District is generally considered much more pleasing to the eye then my Lower City. I do not like it so well, though. It is too clean, too fancy, in this street and all those so close to Palace Way. By degrees, though, we got farther away from the part of the district meant to be seen by the royalty. Mumpers and thieves venture more freely here, and the streets cease to shine in that unnatural way.

"Why was I dismissed from the Guard? " I asked bluntly as we turned into a quiet, dirty alley.

"You will have heard about that dreadful counterfeiting no one could trace?"

"A little, just whispers though. Nothing very certain."

"Well, hear me out. Its been getting so out of hand that, though it wasn't widely talked of for fear of Carthak or Scanra taking an interest, it was a considerable threat. Just this passed Wednesday, I received a note, stating that if we wanted the counterfeit to cease, we had only to dismiss one Trainee Guardswoman Rebakah Cooper from the Guard. The King and all the folk privy to the Kingdom's danger were so desperate as to try anything, _anything _to stop the counterfeit from beggaring Tortall. Not one false coin has been found since the moment of your dismissal, save for the usual clumsy attempts. No one, not mages, or Dogs, can find out where and who this note came from. Not a trace."

I was stunned. "Who would blackmail the whole Kingdom into throwing _me_ out of the Dogs?"

"I was hoping you might be able to make a suggestion," my Lord Provost said with a sigh. "Its been that hard on us, and harder on you. Any suggestion at all, no matter how wild or unlikely. Any grudges or old enemies?"

I shook my head, shivering from more then the bitter cold. "I can't think of any one."

"Come on then. Let's go beg a late lunch from Mya. If you ever think of anything, tell me as soon as you can."

"One thing I do know, is that it isn't the Rogue." I told him.

"Ah, yes, the Rogue. And how goes work at our Thief's Court?" Then, seeing my expression, he said, "I don't blame you, my dear. The Dogs as good as betrayed you, and you never would have betrayed them I know. Its only natural that you find work of the same sort. Every one knows that the Dogs and Rats are exactly the same, only on the other side of the law. I hear you are working for Hairden. He's a hard man, by all accounts, but not a bad sort." And he offered me his arm, as if I were a great Lady.

When I got home to the Dove at last, it was late afternoon. I had hoped to have time to visit my pigeons afore going on duty, but the sun was sinking beneath the city wall. I was thinking as hard as I could about who might wish to get revenge upon my, or someone else through me, anything which might even hint at who would want me thrown out of the Dogs. I turned the corner to the stairs and walked straight into a tall, white-blond cove.

"Rosto," I said absently. "Do you know of anyone who hates me?"

"Not especially, no. Only a few dozen pickpockets, dousers, petty thieves, tosspots, tavern brawlers, and one cracked pigeon. Why?"

"Hmm?" I hadn't really listened.

"No, I don't. Why do you want to know?"

"Maybe. I don't know. . ." I continued on my way to my rooms, still thinking seventeen to the dozen. Rosto followed me.

"Beka, are you sure you didn't hit your head? You aren't making sense."

Suddenly my awareness returned. "No, I haven't. Sorry, I'm just a little distracted."

"I'll say. What's going on?"

I let out my breath and rubbed my forehead. Though I'll never tell him, it is good to know that he's serious when things matter to me, that I'm not just someone to flirt with to him, but a friend. "I went to visit my Lord Provost, and my brothers and sisters today."

"I see. Go on."

"My Lord told me why I was dismissed. D'you remember that strange counterfeit you asked me about? Well, it would seem that that person behind it all sent a message to my Lord, just last Wednesday, saying if I was thrown out, the counterfeit would stop. They couldn't trace the note, and they were desperate to stop the false coin from ruining the Kingdom's gold, so--"

"So you get thrown out and the counterfeit stops. Who would hold a knife to the Kingdom's throat just to get you out of the Dogs?"

"I wish I knew."

"Something else is bothering you, isn't it?"

"It should be," I paused to unlock my door. How did he know me so well? "But you're right. Diona is-- " I seached for the right words. "Difficult."

He leaned against the door frame, waiting for the rest.

I could feel myself blushing, but I looked him squarely in the eye. "She said better a doxie, or dead, then a rusher."

"Ouch."

"She's only a year younger then me," I told him. "So she remembers all the rusher what was mean to mama. She worships Lady Teodorie, and thinks the only way for me to redeem myself is to beg for her mercy, and she'll find me whatever work I'm not yet too degraded to do as a Lady's maid."

Pounce dashed out of my bedroom, rubbed against my ankles, then went careening off after a mouse, real of imaginary, I don't know. As always, he knew how to cheer me up. I couldn't help but laugh.

I sat down to pull off my cold weather things, to let them dry before I went on duty as they were soaked.

A shout came up the stairs. "_Beka! Are you back yet?_" It sounded like Aniki.

"No!"

"Hairden's leaving in a minute! Get down here!"

I sighed and pulled my boots back on. I hadn't had the chance to take anything else off. A cool finger under my chin made me looked up, and Rosto leaned forward to kiss me on the mouth. It was strange and sweet, and a shivery feeling ran through my chest as his lips touched mine. I pulled back and snapped, "Stop that!" I don't think it came out as sharply as it aught.

Rosto chuckled softly, and was gone. What is to be done with him? And with me? Goddess help me.

On duty, we escorted Hairden through the Lower City. He was making visits, I would guess, to threaten, bully, and bribe his district's inhabitants into submission. I must guess, though, because once again we guards are only lookouts, and fighters, if the need were to arise, which it did not. It was sommat to do, though. Hairden finished paying his calls, and we all headed for the Barrel and Jack unchallenged.

I sat with 'Fingers, Tiron and Inknose. I wanted to talk to the mage, Matta, but she had excused herself early, as it looked to be snowing soon and she lives some distance from the Barrel and Jack. Gore sat be himself in a corner, crooning songs to his ale to pass the time. I was a little wary, as I had forgotten to think of an excuse to give 'Fingers for not drinking, but he seemed too deep in his cups to remember. Inknose and Tiron did most of the talking, Inknose because he tends to open his mouth and let his belly rumble, no matter the subject, and Tiron because he is full to the eyes of jests. Mayhap that is what makes them so bright. When I was putting on my cloak to leave, I noticed 'Fingers looking at me with a drunkard's cunnung as slur, "I'll get some ale inta 'er yet."

I hastened out the door and back to the Dancing Dove. I dearly love sitting here at my desk with my my wondrously warm cat purring in my ear.

I have thought it over, and this is how it seems to me. If I want to be let back into the Dogs, I have to catch the counterfeiter who makes it necessary to keep me out of the Dogs. That same counterfeiter who has eluded all the Dogs in Corus and the mages too. The counterfeiter who is either a vastly powerful mage himself, or has one at his side helping him, and who was clever enough to break into My Lord Provost's house to deliver that note and not get caught.

I am doomed to a life of crime.

* * *


	6. Monday, December 14, 246

**Hail!**

**Sorry not much happens in this chapter, but then, do you have earth-shattering revelations and new clues to a mystery that stymies the most talented mages and Dogs in Corus every day? I thought not. Anyway, it was fun to write. I'll be doing a lot of writing this weekend (yes, indeed, even we home schoolers get _some_ time off) , so hopefully I will be forgiven for the lack of action in this chapter. **

**By the way, Lizzy is getting ready to go on a big sleep over with her friends, so this is the last chapter I'll have my dear editor attacking for a while. I need your advice more then ever! Also, the grammar and spelling and general quality might slip a bit. We'll see.**

**Well, enjoy!**

**Sir Gwydion**

Monday, December 14, 246

Written the following day.

After breakfast this morning, I went to see the dust spinners. They were full of news, but none of the counterfeit or its originator. Truly, its as if there never were any cause for concern. It confirms that there must be a mage. How else could all the false coin disappear in a single day?

Rosto is sulking, because Aniki has got her way and is leaving for Port Caynn tomorrow morning. I cannot say I envy her the long ride in the cold and damp, but she is thrilled. I can understand that. I have never been out of Corus, and someday I hope I'll see more of Tortall then its capital. Its good for Aniki to indulge her itchy feet and curiosity, at any rate.

It was a quiet morning, Kora and I helping Aniki pack and Rosto getting in the way. On duty, Hairden headed straight for the Barrel and Jack. I prefer the being sure of a bit of work and a fight that was my lot as a Puppy to this watching and drinking and keeping out of the way. Hairden was in a temper, and when Layla asked him a question, he struck her across the mouth and told her to speak when he bade her to and elsewise keep her tongue betwixt her teeth. We all left him alone after that, and Layla went to see a healer about a tooth that had been knocked loose. Matta went with her, to see she came to no harm.

I sat with Gore so as to avoid 'Fingers. We didn't talk, just sat there staring at the floor. I would have gone home if it wouldn't have been abandoning my duty. I kept an eye on 'Fingers and Tiron from across the room, so if they came over, I could escape first. Of all the preposterous things, I hid in the corner from a florid tosspot and a tease, whilst some one was was willing to destroy an entire kingdom just to lose me my job. As it turned out, I couldn't even evade 'Fingers

"You know, laddy," 'Fingers told Tiron, loud enough to be heard all around the tavern. "Th' reason Beka yonder don't drink aught but barley wa'er, is 'cause she can't 'old 'er drink."

"Is that_ really_ so?" Tiron said, drawing out the word. He made his eyes go wide in an attempt at innocent wonder. He looked more like to laughing, but then he always does. He turned to face me. "Beka, is it _truly _so?"

"No," I said, as red in the face as 'Fingers. "I made myself a promise once never to drink too much."

"Ye can ne'er drink too much." 'Fingers informed me, and afore I could stop him, he stood up on the bench, and declared in a voice to rattle the jacks from the tables, "I Quickfingers Cutpurse, challenge ye, Rebakah Cooper, to a drinkin' contest."

I knew and he knew that my reputation was not so secure that I could refuse him. I still had an air of the Dog about be, and the Dogs are the ones who stay sober. If I turned away, I would be seen as a spying Dog in their midst, and a coward. Too, my pride would not stand for it. The only comfort I have is that I won, so 'Fingers had to pay for the ale.

Gore helped me to wend my weaving way home through the dark streets. I have never been more mortified in my life then on thinking back to then, so I will get it over and done as soon as I may. To my enduring and undiminished humiliation, I was seen by several Dog pairs I knew from the Evening Watch, but worst of all, Goodwin and Tunstall.

"Cooper, what have you done to yourself?" Goodwin asked in her usual clipped way.

"Fingers said. . .said I couldn't drink.Challenged me to a drinking conquest. Contest?"

"Well, all I can say is I hope you won."

"Of course she won,"said Tunstall indignantly. "She's conscious, isn't she?"

"This is Gore," I told them. "He's walking me home so as I don't kill myself."

"I wouldn't want to be you in the morning." said Goodwin. "Gore, if that is your name, please get her home before she injures something."

Gore ducked his head. In the end, he had to carry me rather then let my stumbling steps break sommat, beggar of bone. It must have been three in the morning when he finally delivered me to the Dove. Only Rosto and Gafell were up, if dozing at the table may be considered up. When Gore opened the door, letting in a cold gust of wind, they both started awake. Gafell gazed at me mournfully, then slouched off to his rooms off the kitchen to finish the night in peace.

"I'm drunk," I told Rosto solemnly as Gore set me down. "Thank you," I told him, and he ducked out the door.

"You certainly are," Rosto said dryly, arms crossed.

"Fingers is drunker--drunkester?"

"I see."

"Said I couldn't drink."

"Can you walk up the stairs on your own? No, you can't even walk across the floor. Come on, up you come." And he picked me up and carried me up the stairs.

I meant to say that I would be able to walk across the floor if it would stop moving in that peculiar way, but I couldn't find the words. I wondered why everyone kept carrying me every where. Didn't I have legs? I looked down to make sure. "'M glad Diona don't know I'm drunk. She'd be. . ." Never mind."I've been stu--stupid, haven't I?"

"Yes. Very stupid, very drunk," Rosto told me reassuringly as he tucked me into my bed. He kissed the bridge of my nose. "Now go to sleep. "

I did.

* * *

**Just before she headed out the door, Lizzy pointed out that Beka sounds sort of sleepy and hyper, not especially what she would sound like if she were drunk. Ah well. T'will serve. I'm going to type up the next chapter after I have lunch, so you who dislike this entry will have a good long time to get annoyed at me. It was on my outline from the start, and I am not permitted to stray from the outline. There is something important that was hinted at. Dare you to find it! (There goes that pesky foreshadowing again).**

**The next chapter will be moving the plot along more then this one does, fear not. I will keep my rabbit trails in hand.  
**

**Sir Gwydion **


	7. Tuesday, December 15, 246

**Greetings, one and all! **

**Being temporarily deprived of my editor, I needs must make do. Bear with me.  
**

**And so the plot advances . . . or as Lizzy is wont to say, 'The plot thickens, let us hope it doesn't congeal'.**

**Sir Gwydion**

Tuesday, December 15, 246

At Night's end.

"Beka, are you awake? Or even alive?"

"_Uuuuuuugggghhhhh._"

"Honestly, gixie, I have to leave in as hour. Did you _have _to get drunk?"

"Alright," I whimpered. "I'm awake. Don't breathe so loud."

"You should have heard her last night," that was Rosto's voice, smothering laughter. "It was really funny. "

"Rosto, this isn't a show," said Kora. "If you aren't going to be helpful, just go away. Beka, sit up and drink this."

After a moment, I did indeed manage to sit up. Kora handed me a cup. Its contents smelled vile and looked worse, but I drank it. Kora may not be able to heal with her Gift, but she is as good with herbs as mama ever was. It took a few minutes, but the nasty tea soon took effect. The pounding in my head lessened.

"What time is it?" I asked, fixing Aniki with a bleary eye.

She wordlessly pointed to the window, through which I could see the late morning sun slanting down onto the snow. I groaned, stumbled over to the bucket of water I always keep in the corner and stuck my head in it. When I came up, dripping, I felt better. Pounce mewed with distaste at the thought of the icy cold water. It was well enough for him. I don't think that cats get hangovers, especially not cats who used to be constellations.

An hour and three cups of Kora's tea later, we all trooped out into the yard off the little stable Rosto insisted on having built, though they are seldom used. Aniki rode off with a whoop, followed more calmly by Fiddlelad and two heavily muscled rushers who I think were only there as a show of force. They won't be doing any out-and-out fighting if they can help it, only remind the good people of Port Caynn that the Rogue has an interest in their being discreet. I think that the horses were stolen, but I didn't ask. The habits of nine months are hard to break, and they all know I'm not fond of theft.

The Dove seemed quiet and empty with Aniki gone, and Kora and Ersken lolligagging about in the Day Market. Rather then go to Rosto for company, I decided to visit with Granny Fern. Besides, he was occupied with Rogue business.

Granny is a Lower City mot, so I had no fear that she would be angry that I had turned crooked. If anything, I am the only one who cannot forgive my actions. Granny and I had our first long talk in a few weeks. I told her about my dismissal from the Dogs, my visit to my Lord Provost's house, and work with Hairden. I also helped her clean her rooms and fix a few minor problems which should have been see to weeks ago by her landlord. I had harbored some small hope that Granny would see sommat in it all that I had not, for she is a clever mot for all her age, but she could think of no one who would wish me so much ill.

I had to hurry home, so as to be back in time for guarding Hairden. I made my stealthy entrance through the back. And changed into a shirt and britches. In the common room below, my fellow guards were waiting, gathered round the usual table and looking bemused. I slid onto the bench between Tiron and Gore. "Where's Hairden?" I asked.

"Gone," said 'Fingers in a stunned voice.

"Gone?"

"Gone. 'E gave us th' night off."

Tiron shook his head. "I've worked for Hairden since I was fourteen -- that's _five years _-- and he has _never_ given us a night off. Never."

"Did he say why?" I asked.

"No. He just trudged in here, you know that way he has, like thunder at midnight, and growled 'I have no use for you tonight,' and then he marched right back out again. You only just missed him." He stared down into his lap, flabbergasted, then he grinned. "I'm going to get a drink. 'Fingers?"

"Aye, laddy," his drinking companion replied with a grin. Inknose rolled his eyes, as if pleading with Mithros to give his fellows some of the good sense he had been granted.

Before I turned crooked, I never understood the phrase 'thick as thieves' but now, I think, I do. There is an instant easiness between two thieves, provided they are not rivals. It must come from the knowledge that the both of them are courting the hangman's noose on Execution Hill. Too, the folk who live by their wits are generally from the Lower City and the its like, and we don't keep how we feel all tucked away as the Nobles do. For all its crime, I think the Lower City is more honest then His Majesty's own palace, with its pretty manners and its politics.

Though they invited me to join them in their celebrations of the unaccustomed freedom, the memory of my throbbing head was still strong from the morning. I excused myself from the revelries by saying I had to go out and buy some food for tomorrow's breakfast. In truth, we have little need of it, for these past few days we have had no extra mouthes to feed, (the combination of getting up and walking through the cold and snow being too much for most) there is more then enough to go round. Gafell can make wonderful pasties when he sets his mind to it.

Even with nothing to do, it was nice to wander about the Night Market, the cold biting my cheeks and nose. Mayhap it reminded me of walking my watch, and mayhap it is only that I am still as infatuated with my Lower City as ever. For all it was well past sunset, the Night Market was bright and noisy. Steaming breath hovered in the air, like a mist. In no hurry to get back to the Dove to be wooed by a drunken Tiron, I wandered about the shops and stalls, not looking at anything in particular, but taking it in as a whole, the bright colors, the smells both enticing and foul, the merry talk and laughter. If the Lower City has a soul, it is the Night Market.

Quite suddenly, I caught a glimpse of familiar, heavy features under dark, white-flecked hair and a thick beard. Could it be? I followed the figure until he passed near a lantern, and I was sure. It was Hairden.

Curious, and probably cracknobbed, I shadowed him as he made his way out of the Night Market. He looked over his shoulder as he turned into Smite Hammer Row, and I ducked momentarily out of sight. What errand could he wish to perform that couldn't be done in front of his guards?

At the corner of Smite Hammer and Fish Monger, a cloaked and hooded figure waited. The street was empty and still. I thought it might be a woman, but it was hard to be sure through the cloak and the dark. I hid in the shadow of a doorway.

"Durati, what news?" I heard Hairden murmur softly to the figure. A hand was raised for silence, then searing red magic flared, briefly illuminating the dirty, snow-covered street.

I blinked my eyes rapidly torid them of the glare, but even so, I saw the two figures wink out existence like a pair of snuffed candles. A mage! What was Hairden up to? No matter my curiosity, I couldn't follow if they were invisible. I cursed softly. Whoever she was, Durati must be a fairly powerful mage, for I saw no footprints, which meant that she was either concealing them even as they were made, or she had lifted both herself and Hairden off the ground enough to avoid the snow. It would take a powerfully strong mage to do that for any time, and for two at once, as_ well_ as keeping them invisible.

I trudged home through the snow, going in through the back and thence to the kitchen. I have made a great discovery: for all his mournful ways and his glooming, Gafell has a kind heart. It pleases him to be thought fearsomely dire, though, so I will never let on that I know his secret. But, because I know it, I also knew that it would be possible to wheedle him into giving a weary wanderer sommat warm to drink without making her sit in the common room to drink it. It is lovely and warm in the kitchen, and I sat by the fire, sipping the warm cider Gafell had given me, watching him go about his tasks, and thinking. Presently, Pounce came down to the kitchen as well, and upon seeing my wayward cat, Gafell let a piece of the meat he was carrying into the other room fall to the floor, as if by accident. Pounce, true to his name, leaped upon the morsel and devoured it in seconds. That has made me think that, for all he's as gloomsome as a wet day, I have been missing a good friend in Gafell these past five months he's worked here.

My happy, warm, well-fed puss and I made our way to our rooms unnoticed and, I think, unmissed. I am cuddling him on my lap as I write this. I do not know how I would survive were I without my cat. I must buy some more ink soon, for I have used it almost all up in this journal.

I have thought about it a great deal, both whilst I was drinking my cider and now, and mayhap I'm grasping at straws, but this is how I see things:

For the counterfeiter to hide from all the Corus mages, he must be or have the assistance of a mage. How many mages are there in Corus who are strong enough to do that and don't have some honest work that pays better'n any theft ever could? Precious few, I would think. So, out of that handful of strong mages, how many have dealings with Rats?

I'm going to Dog Hairden, and Durati too if I can. I'm going to Dog them just like I did the Bold Brass Gang, almost nine years ago now. I'm going to ask questions, and learn everything I can about them. Dear Mithros, Mother Goddess and Tricksters All, let me catch them at counterfeiting!

I don't know what else to do if I'm wrong. How else can I get back into the Dogs?

* * *

**I won't beg or threaten, but I will request that you review. I'm without my editor and in need of your aid! _Please_. Besides, reviews make me happy!**

**Oh, and Durati is pronounced Do-rah-tea. Don't make it sound like 'rat' in the middle. No no no no no _no_. **

**Sir Gwydion **


	8. Wednesday, December 16 246

**Well met! **

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while, my notebook had an unfortunate encounter with the washing machine. It didn't survive, so I'm rewriting all of the end of _Bloodhound on the Scent._ This is where I go all sour-grapes-y and say it needed rewriting anyway, right? Well, it did. We'll see how it turns out. **

**By the way, the reason this entry and the next one are so short is that Beka doesn't feel like writing, not that I'm lazy. This goes one entry per chapter, so bear with me, or rather Beka.**

**Enjoy, and know that even as you read this, I am typing up the next chapters!**

**Sir Gwydion **

Wednesday, December 16, 246**  
**

Written after midnight.

It is sarden impossible to track a mage.

At breakfast this morning I asked Kora how one would go about it. She looked askance at me, but said,"The most common flaw in a mage's spell is a failure to be protected from mundane things. The mage is so terribly clever he thinks of all the ways another mage might stop him, but not how an un-Gifted person might go about it. Sometimes folk with the Gift are easier to deal with then ones without, because the mages all know spells for getting their way, but if you take their Gift away, they can't think of a blessed thing to do. Folk as are used to dealing with mages but have no Gift themselves are dangerous. They have to be smart enough to evade spells and get to the mage. I came up against someone like that once, and it was a rude awakening. The village healer taught me all I know. I had never come across anyone with more Gift then it took to light a candle except her, and I was proud. An arrogant fool. Well, at any rate, I was cured of _that _particular failing, and learned my lesson too."

There is no help to be got from that, though. Durati thought to hide her footprints. She's too clever by half.

All morning, a light drizzle has been falling. It raised a freezing mist as chills you to the bones off the snow and keeps the pigeons away, just when I want to see them. I would feel better if I could find out who that Carthaki ghost Boner has is. It would be a darn sight more useful then following Hairden around in the cold. He went to the bath house, to the bakers stall, to the gambling den, and to the knife sharpening stall, where I learned that he carries nineteen knives, possibly more as didn't need sharpening. Towards afternoon, he lost me in the fog, so I went to several different taverns and asked around about Hairden and a mage called Durati. It did me about as much good as picking a pig's pocket. The only time I heard anything was from a man half drunk who spun me a yarn so ridiculous I almost decided not to write it down. Apparently, Durati is the daughter of a Copper Isle princess and a Carthaki smith. She and her two beautiful sisters fly about the world still, on the back of an immortal flying horse still. He claimed to have seen them, ever morning. He waves to them when they fly past his window as he eats his breakfast. They are good friends, and someday they shall rule, one each over Tortall, Carthak, the Copper Isles, and Scanra, then they shall conquer--_something_. He told me so just afore he passed out drunk. The only other thing of interest I found out is that no one seems to know anything about Hairden from before he joined Kayfer's court, eight years or so back. That is not surprising, though. Few thieves have pasts longer then that.

Duty was dull. We were on watch duty again, and I had to endure a multitude of 'watch-Dog' jokes afore Hairden glowered at us to be quiet. He gave me the oddest look. It was part hatred, disgust, and anger, and part satisfaction. I don't know what to make of him.

I hid outside the Barrel and Jack after I pretended to leave, and followed him, but he went straight home. I was about to go back to the Dove in disgust, when he came out again, and strode covertly through the bitter cold streets. As I had hoped, he met the mage again, this time at the corner of Up River and Smoke streets. They disappeared afore half a second had passed. Once again, no footprints. Untraceable.

I hate this poxy job.

I hate Hairden, and Durati, and all Godscursed counterfeiters.

I hate the cold, the snow, the ice, the bruises I get from slipping on it, and the way my lips chap in the winter-dry air.

As it is the only thing I can do aught about, I will go see Kora for sommat to keep my lips from chapping. I can hear her and Ersken talking in the room below mine. Mayhap I'd best not go. If I talk Ersken, I fear I shall be jealous, and therefore rude.

Because, most of all, I hate not being a Dog.


	9. Friday, December 18, 246

**Greetings!**

**No of course I haven't given up on my story! I've just been a bit lax about adding new chapters. I've been studying for my exams (wish me luck on Latin!), and Lizzy has been a bit, well, _over zealous_ in the editing department. Not that I'm any better when it comes to _her_ story. Oh yeah, she will be posting the first chapter of the story she abandoned me for soon, so watch out for stuff by The Ink Stained Quill.**

**Anyhow, on with the story! I'll try to be better about posting new chapters. **

** Sir Gwydion**

Friday, December 18, 246

Dawn.

I'm ashamed of myself. I didn't even write in this journal yesterday, I was so thoroughly put out. I may not be a Dog, I may not even _deserve _to be a Dog, but that doesn't mean that I can't be half way pleasant to my friends. I have decided to stop sulking that some mage is cleverer than me and find sommat to keep me busy whilst I think of a plan. Pounce approves of my resolution. When I told him, he _mrt_ed in his most encouraging way. Mayhap I can help Kora with some of the washing she still takes in, no matter how often she says she's tired of playing 'good little washerwoman.'

My pigeons have come, but Boner isn't among them. Blast the bird. His ghost would have been a most agreeable way to keep busy.

Aniki will be writing soon, or coming home herself. I wonder how she's getting on in Port Caynn. Knowing her, she'll have found _some_ kind of mischief to mix herself up in. I hope she comes back soon. Its too quiet here without her banging about with her sword. Then again, I'm the only one awake now, I think, so it should be right noisy again when the others come in for breakfast. I will go beg a peace offering of spice bread from Gafell, who never seems to leave his kitchen, or even sleep

After midnight.

When I asked Kora at breakfast if she needed any help, she told me that she'd already done all the washing for this week, but before I could start thinking of another way to keep busy, Rosto mentioned that he needed someone to watch his back while he gave Beowoth, the chief of Upmarket, a talking to. I jumped at the chance to do something in keeping with my resolve other then darn my stockings, a task which I hadn't been looking forward to.

We left as soon as the dishes were washed, dried, and delivered back to Gafell. He looked almost cheerful as he waved us on our way, like he knew a secret, or was plotting something interesting for dinner tonight. The not-quite-smile looked so odd on his mournful, basset-hound face, that he was scarcely recognizable.

For a while, Rosto and I walked walked in silence. Pounce had decided to brave the frozen streets, which made me think that things were going to get interesting. I guess you could say that its nearly as hard to get Pounce out in the snow as it is to make Gafell anything other then morose. It was _very _cold, despite the long absent sun's dazzling appearance. Walking through the Lower City's ice-slick streets with Rosto, the sun reflecting off of everything was nice. I felt-- peaceful, for the first time in days. Mayhap it was the sun, or Pounce, or keeping busy, or Rosto's reassuringly familiar presence, but sommat made me relax for the first time since I was dismissed from the Dogs. I hadn't realized how tense every muscle in my body was until then.

"Beka," Rosto said after a while. "You've been as cross as a bear with a sore head lately. What're you brooding over this time? Or is it still the counterfeiters?"

"Its sort of about the counterfeiters," I said hesitantly. After all, Hairden is his district chief. Friend he may be, and the Rogue, but he still has to tread carefully around the important folk of Corus if he wants to keep his throat uncut. Then I remembered all the times he's helped me in the past -- the Shadow Snake, the awful brawls this summer, the River Street Mob, the rotten Dog who went about dousing other Dogs-- and told him all about Durati and Hairden, and my suspicions. It was plain that he set the City folk's interest above his own.

"It seems a bit of a stretch," He said after a while. "Hairden's been with the Rogue for more 'n eight years. He was Deerborn's kin, his cousin or sommat. And what would he, or the mage, Durati, have against you?"

"I don't know. But their up to something." Suddenly, I had a thought. "Rosto," I asked intently. "Do you know what he did afore he joined the Rogue?"

"Beka, one doesn't go about telling what one's done in the past in this particular, uhm, profession. If I were to bandy about all the things I did in Scanra, it wouldn't be two days afore I was found stone dead in the gutter. You've got it both hard and easy, having been in the Dogs. You're well known, yes, but at least you don't have to worry about your past misdeeds coming back to haunt you."

"Would you tell me if I asked you what you did afore coming to Tortall?"

I expected to be turned off with some teasing remark, or even annoyance, but he only looked at me thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I might -- if you asked."

I nodded slowly, wondering just what I was agreeing to under the words. "I'll remember that," I said carefully.

_You'd better, _Pounce told me darkly. _You don't know what your getting yourself into._

_Tell me then, _I thought back to him. When he didn't answer, I raised an eyebrow. _You don't know either, _I accused. He twitched his tail at me by way of answer. Constellations, I have learned, are not forthcoming when it comes to explanations of their dire warnings. Or mayhap its the cat in him.

It is almost as far from the Dancing Dove to Beowoth's favorite haunt, an empty, boarded-up shop, as it is to my Lord Provost's house, but we are neither of us short of leg or of breath, so it wasn't too long afore we reached our destination.

The shop was a sad looking building, the paint peeling from the sign over the door which read _Moggin's: selling good ale and wine _beneath a dangling, battered barrel; the sign for the illiterate. The windows were indeed covered with boards, and the door swung loose on its hinges. It looked deserted, but Rosto had warned me that there were guards on either side of the door, with their eyes pressed to knotholes and their pockets full of knives. Below, in the crumbling cellar, Beowoth kept his ale and his company.

Discreetly, Rosto made the Thief's sign, and the door swung inward with a squeal of failing hinges. It was very dark inside, but he marched forward without a moment's hesitation. I hurried after him, Pounce at my heels.

There were four guards, two on either side of the door. Two of them wordlessly turned back to their watching, but the others escorted us down a staircase to the brightly lit basement. There were barrels everywhere,used as chairs, as tables, even stacked up as supports for the downward-tending upper floor. Mayhap two dozen mots and coves sat around, drinking from carved wooden cups. As we reached the last step, a mot stood from her barrel and knelt beside it, drawing more ale from the spout she opened. At the far end of the room, a sort of throne of barrels had been erected. A long, lean cove with short ginger hair and a carefully trimmed beard sprawled side-wise across it. He was dressed like a dandy, in a bright gold shirt and black breeches of expensive looking material, and a big gold hoop through his ear. It looked ridiculous, and would be a hazard in a fight. I've never seen Rosto wear aught half so big in his ear. Despite his foppish appearance, he was well muscled and had the hard look of a man who had seen more fights then he had hairs on his head. With a jolt, I realized he couldn't have been more then two or three years older than me.

I never knew how commanding Rosto could be. Usually I don't sit in on the Rogue, and even when I do, he treats his subjects with a faintly mocking air, because that goes over better in general then the regal supremacy Kayfer Deerborn always adopted. But when he stared at Beowoth, he gave no quarter, his eyes like obsidian. The cove looked straight back at him, trying to make him look away first. Eventually, when it became clear that neither of them was going to give in, Rosto said, "A word," and gesture imperiously to a room off the main cellar. With a shrug, Beowoth uncoiled his lanky frame from the barrel throne and led the way, closing the door behind them.

Beowoth's folk gazed at me with mild hostility, not really caring what I did so as I did it quietly and left them to their ale. I stayed standing and alert. A cove passed out drunk right then before me. I wondered idly if they were drunk already today, or still drunk from the night before.

About five minutes later, the door banged open, and Rosto backed out, his knife pointed at Beowoth's chest, and a wary eye on Beowoth's own knife, aimed at his own heart. "A challenge then?" he said.

"Aye," Beowoth told him, motioning for his company to clear out of the center of the room. "Before these witnesses, and the Crooked God, I challenge you for the Rogue."

I scooped up Pounce and backed up against the wall by the crumbling steps, curious and a little worried. Rosto has been challenge before, of course, but I'd never actually seen the fight those times. The two men circled each other, then, at the same time, lunged forward, grappling briefly afore breaking apart and circling once more, looking for an advantage. As Rosto slid to the side with a cat's grace he maintained a deadly silence, but Beowoth hurled taunts at him, insulting his family, his friends, his country, his appearance, everything. "Even your tavern is a disgrace, " he sneered. "'The Dancing Dove'. What a pitiful name. Though I must admit, it is almost apt, with all those birds flying in and out all day. Tell me, do they dance to your tune, Piper, or --" his eyes flicked to me and a malicious smile spread across his face-- "do you have to turn to a different sort of creature? But the pigeons are hers, aren't they, Master Rogue. Its a sad state of things when the Rogue is the laughing stock of Tortall, because he can't stop chasing after a Dog. That's her, isn't it?" He pointed at me with his chin. I felt my cheeks burn with shame and anger at his comments, and I knew by the cold, hard sensation in my arms and legs that my eyes would look like blazing ice. "She isn't even--"

He never finished his sentence, because Rosto darted forward, thrusting his knife at Beowoth's throat. He moved so fast, like lightning, like flame, that Beowoth barely blocked him in time. In that second, I saw fear in his eyes. He knew as well as I did that he could never beat some one as good in a fight as Rosto is. He shoved back at Rosto, but he was already gone, circling again. He let out a humorless bark of laughter, and said, "Aim for your heart then, shall I?"

I thought it was just the bravado of a man who knows he is going to die, but I was wrong. Beowoth spun on his heel and hurled his knife at me. I just barely managed to avoid it going through my heart, throwing myself to the side, so it hit my arm instead. Pain sparked behind my eyes, and Pounce hissed balefully. Even though it hurt a lot, I could tell that the wound wasn't serious, going through skin rather then muscle or bone.

As soon as I was sure that it wasn't a very bad injury, I looked back up to see how Rosto was doing. He and Beowoth were holding each other's knife arms in their free hands, struggling to knock one another over. His gaze flicked to me, and I nodded to let him know I was alright. Two twin spots of color burned high on his cheekbones, stark against his star-pale skin. In that instant of distraction, Beowoth seized his chance, and swung his leg hard at Rosto's, knocking them both to the ground with Beowoth on top. Rosto tried to push Beowoth off of him while still keeping his knife, but the other cove was heavier that him, and he couldn't get him off. Beowoth slowly but inexorably began bringing his knife to Rosto's throat whilst still keeping his own throat safe by forcing Rosto's wrist back at an awkward angle.

With uncanny speed, Rosto changes his form of attack, letting Beowoth push his hand back hard, then slipping the hilt of his knife through the large hoop earing I'd noticed before and tugging down hard. Beowoth cried out as the ring was ripped from his ear, tearing the skin in its path. Blood flowed freely from the torn flesh as Rosto dropped the knife he was holding and heaved Beowoth off him while his body was still limp with momentary shock. I don't know how he did it, but somehow there was another knife in his hand, and then suddenly it wasn't in his hand anymore, but thrust to the guard through Beowoth's throat.

There was a moment's silence, everything perfectly still, everyone's gaze centered on Beowoth -- the knife -- the shockingly red blood coursing from the wound. Then Rosto stood up, and when he spoke, I was startled by how steady his voice was. "Who is the second in command?"

A short, stocky mot with flat brown hair and eyes but a nonetheless powerful air about her stepped away from the wall. She was one of the few present who wasn't intoxicated. "I am, sir," she said.

He frowned at her. "Gralda Highmount, isn't it? You're in charge of Upmarket now, with all the responsibilities and privileges that entails." He looked at me, and for the first time since I'd been hit, I did too. I really aught to have done sommat about the blood, or at least taken the blade out of my arm. There was a lot of blood, soaking my shirt and breeches. "And there'll be a bit extra for you if you tell me where the nearest decent healer can be found."

While Gralda gave Rosto instructions on how to get to the healer's house, I gripped the knife by the hilt and pulled it out sharply, not wanting to prolong the experience. It hadn't even gone all the way through. I pulled the pair of handkerchiefs I always carry out of my pocket, pressed one down on the wound, and tired it firmly in place with the other, then raised it above my heart to slow the bleeding. Pounce stretched against my leg, purring deep in his chest. I smiled at him, just the smallest bit lightheaded from my loss of blood. I tried to ignore the bleary stares of the drunken Rats around me. When they hear the rumor about me and Rosto, most folk tend to watch me a while, wondering what it is about me that would make the Rogue take interest. After all, I'm no great beauty, like some of the mot who throw themselves at his head. As usual, they lost interest when I failed to show any sign of being more then met the eye.

After seeing the healer, we went back to the Dancing Dove. By now I am used to how cold Rosto is when it comes to killing. Even so, it sent a shiver down my spine to think how many folk he must have killed to make it mean so little to him. Then I remembered that Rosto only fought when he had to, not picking fights as some do. Beowoth had challenged _him, _and it was either kill or be killed.

I rested until it was time for Rat duty. I might have pleaded off of it because of my arm, but I wanted to keep and eye on Hairden. As it turned out, I was foiled in my scheme, though, as Hairden sent me off to deliver a message for him in the Cesspool. I ran all the way, anxious to get back to watching Hairden. _Too quickly_, I thought as I tripped and fell on my return journey. Then I saw the fine wire that was strung tautly across the alley. A hand reached out and dragged my by the collar into a dark doorway. I struggled, then something hard cracked over my head, and I lost conciousness for a few moments.

When I came around, I could hear the sound of voices. The rough grain of floorboards pressed against me and it was very dark. Something warm and wet tricked down the side of my face. I poked my tongue out to taste it. Blood.

"Awright, we got 'er. Now le's 'urry up 'n get 'er to th' chief, so as we'll get payed," said a harsh, slightly pompous voice.

"'Ang on a mo, i's that Dog 'oo 'obbled us, las' month!" The second cove sounded whiny and knuckle-me-brow-to-ye.

"Is i'? Trickster's awul, it is th' Dog!"

"Puppy."

"_Terrier. _D'ya suppose she was after us again?"

"Can't 'ave been. Can she?"

"Doun't matter, anyhow," the first man declared firmly. "'Jus' get th' girl, and bring 'er to me' thas wha' 'e sayed, so tha's wha' we'll do."

The pair lapsed into silence, and their footsteps receded into the distance, but I thought they were still in the same room, by the echoes. It must be pretty big, mayhap a cellar or sommat.

Of all the fool, addle-pated, scummer-brained, cracknobbed, _idiotic _things to have happened! I was affronted. To be kidnapped by these incompetants, of all things. I had a vague memory of arresting them for stealing a bolt of fine cloth from a stall in the Night Market. They had run off through the crowd when they saw me after them, trailing the bright red fabric behind then like a flag, rather then trying to blend into all the folk out in the market, which might have foiled me. The only reason they'd been taken to the Kennel at all was that one of them tried to hit Tunstall with the bolt, so we let them cool their heels in the Cages for appearance's sake.

I tried to sit up, but discovered that whatever their other failings might have been, one of them at least could tie a decent knot. I was bound, wrists and ankles. But they hadn't thought to disarm me, I discovered, when I checked for my wrist knives. Pretending to still be unconscious, I eased the knife out and used my fingertips to rub the blade back and forth on the rope, thanking all the gods that I'd sharpened all my knives just a few days ago, so it was very sharp. The roughly made rope chaffed against my skin as I twisted to move the knife, but after a few more minutes, my hands were free. I sighed with relief and moved to my feet.

As soon as I was free, I stood up, then winced. I must have twisted my ankle when I tripped. That lost me all chance of outrunning the cuddies, so I'd have to try and sneak out.

It proved to be easier that one might have expected, all things considered. I was scarcely ten paces from the door, which led directly out onto the street. As softly as I could, I closed the door behind me, then hopped on my left foot -- it was that of limp -- away from the building. It was the same place where I had been knocked out. Remembering, I put my hand up to my head and felt the place. There was a small cut that was just starting to scab over, and a fair amount of tacky, half-dried blood. I fixed the place firmly in my mind, then began the long march home.

It was a long, _long _way back to the Dove, but I made it, sweating like it was summer, and leaning against the walls of every building I could. By the time I opened the door, I was scraped and scratched from falling down, and my and my ankle felt like pudding. Though it was very late and the Court had been dismissed, there was a light in the common room, and I could see Kora, Ersken, Rosto, Phelan, and Gafell sitting around a table bearing a masterpiece of an apple pie. When they heard the door bang shut behind me, they all turned to watch me hop toward them.

"Beka, what have you done to yourself this time?" Kora asked with terrible patience. By now they are all used to me coming back late and in less then perfect health, and only bother to worry if it seems to be something particular.

"Sorry," I said, as it seemed they were waiting for me. "I got tripped and almost hauled off by some filchers that I hobbled a while ago. I sprained my ankle," --I pointed to the treacherous limb -- "and got knocked on the head. Were you expecting me?"

"Yes," to my surprise, it was Gafell who spoke, his habitual frown creasing his forehead. "You're late."

I gave them a quizzical look, then noticed that Rosto was muffling laughter on his arm. "_What?_"

"Happy birthday, Beka," he said, still chuckling, and gestured to the pie. "In honor of your seventeeth year."

I couldn't help but laugh too. I had completely forgotten.

After we devoured the delicious pie and they all wished me luck for the year, I came up to my room to write in this journal. I am very tired, but happy as well. I have done a good job of keeping busy, but that is not the only thing that I am pleased about.

One of the men who knocked me out said that 'the chief' had told him to capture me, and who could that be but Hairden? The counterfeiters have already show a great misliking for me, and this makes me almost certain that I am after the right man, and the right mage.

Or I would be, if there were anything there to be after.


	10. Author's Note

**Hey! **

**I apologize for neglecting this story. I've just let it get away from me. But I'm going to be updating now and again from now on. **

**Aniki's letter: the lost plot outline which I can't be bothered to do over. I assure you, it was lame anyway. **

**I have not read Tamora Pierce's Bloodhound (alas, it is not published.), so no, there are no spoilers, unless my guess of what will happen is a lot nearer the mark then I think it is. **

**Sorry for messing the whole thing around so much, and hoping to be posting soon,**

**Sir Gwydion**


	11. Saturday, December 19, 246

**Hale, my hearts!**

**Anyone who read Lizzy's discontinued story 'A Whisper in the Wind', may notice a character stolen right out of there. _I have permission from her! _Besides, I made up the name. I like him. Say hello to -- Reemest Corhalt! (Poor lad.)  
**

**Belatedly,**

**Sir Gwydion**

Saturday, December 19, 246

Written at Dusk

Despite how eager I was to be up and off about my business first thing this morning, I overslept, waking to a pounding on my door. Letting out an inarticulate moan of protest at this bleary start to the day, I rolled out of bed, clutching my blankets around me. Pounce joined in the general cacophony with a yowl of his own, and curled up on the straw-stuffed mattress, appearantly under the misconception that whatever I might have to do, this was a sleeping day for him.

"Poxy cat, " I grumped halfheartedly, stumbling out of my nightgown and pulling on the first clothes my hands touched.

A familiar voice with a note of steel in it said, "Rebakah Cooper, if you don't wake up this instant, I'll come in there with my hobbles." It was Goodwin.

"Now Clary, she had a healing yesterday. At least wake her up less forcibly. " That was Tunstall.

"For Mithros's sake, Cooper! We've been knocking for a full five minutes! An' it's sleep you want, I'm willing enough to give you a nap tap by now!" Goodwin growled.

"I thought we were here to take her to lunch, not to the law, " That wry voice couldn't have belonged to anyone but Lady Sabine.

"Hmph," grumped Goodwin.

"Alright," I called, before any real violence could ensue. " I'm coming!"

When I opened the door, I was stunned to see that Goodwin looked -- older. Grim lines, delicate as spider silk, clustered around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes. There was a streak of gray at her temple that hadn't been there before. Tunstall too seemed to have aged more then a few days should account for.

He gripped my shoulder and steered me down the stairs and out the back door, Goodwin and Lady Sabine following behind.

I tried to ask what was happening, but Tunstall whispered in my ear, with unaccustomed severity, "_Not_ _now,_ Beka. Not here."

For the rest of the walk, I kept my gob shut. The snow began to fall more thickly, obscuring the street around us. A dark shadow, made speckled-gray by the drifting flakes, raced past me, then returned. Pounce. When he tired of chasing his imaginary mice, he mewed for me to carry him.

"Poxy cat," I murmured for a second time.

_Careful, _he told me._ The pox is catching. If I stay around for long enough, you might grow a tail._

I smiled, and thought back to him. _I'm not worried. I've heard that sense is catching, and for a certain, you've never yet caught it from me._

Pounce _mrt_ed his cat-laugh, and, as if to prove my point, sprang off after his insubstantial prey again. Maybe, I thought, there's a constellation Mouse as well, and that's what he's always after. Though I've never heard of one called that.

To my surprise, we didn't go to the Mantel and Pullet, but to a tavern I'd never been to afore. 'The Griffin's Den' it was called. I snorted into the barley water Tunstall had ordered for me. I'd heard the tales of griffins, and a place less likely to hold only truth-speakers I'd never seen. Gambling, thieving, and, I dare say, a knife in the back were the only things that denned here. Why in the name of the immortal gods had we come here?

We were sitting at a sturdy, barrel-legged table that looked like it had see the worst of life. With Tunstall and Goodwin on my either side and Lady Sabine across from me, knew that we were hardly inconspicuous. "What are we waiting for? " I whispered. They ignored me. With a shrug, I took a sip of barley water. What ever it was would happen soon enough.

A figure, heavily cloaked and hooded came in. He was dressed as shabbily as any of the Griffen's customers, but he walked differently, more uprightly. His boots were worn, but well polished, with tarnished metal caps over the toe and at the heel. After ordering a jack of ale, he made his way over to us. Under the hood his face was nondescript. Tangled black hair, dark eyes, lightly tanned, a hint of stubble on his cheeks and chin, a nose that had been broken more the once.

"Grand weather we're having," he murmured, sliding in between Lady Sabine and Goodwin. He gave me a sharp look and said under his breath so only we four could hear him, "She's the one?"

Tunstall nodded.

Bemused, I waited for an explanation.

He leaned across the table. "I'm Reemest Corhalt, girl, and I need a favor of you."

I blinked, hiding my shock. Reemest Corhalt -- a name that no one spoke lightly. It was impossible to know the truth, but it was said that he was the Tortallan Spy-Master's right-hand man, the one who did all the actual organizing of spies and delivering of information. If rumor be sooth, he'd kept his post longer then any man in it ever had before, almost seventeen years. And, again, if one trusted the word of the street, he'd been a Dog afore ever he'd been a spy.

Warily, I repeated, "A favor?"

He smile grimly, briefly revealing a chipped front tooth. "Nothing to look askance at, Cooper." He passed a small glass phial and a softer-tipped brush across the table. "It's powdered dream rose and a few other--_useful_ herbs. Do you know what dream rose does?"

"Aye," I said, "It produces true dreams, but what--"

"Hush, and listen. With these herbs, inhaled slowly over a few minutes, instead of showing the present, it will help recall the past."

"What would I need to remember?" I asked, still confused.

"I was getting to that. As you know this business with the counterfeit coin was more of a threat then we'd like to say."

"But it's done now. All the counterfeit coins vanished after-- after I was dismissed from the Provost's Guard."

Corhalt's mouth twisted. "Do you have a coin in you pocket?" I nodded, pulling out a copper penny and laying it on the table. He picked it up, ave it a brief inspection, then drew his dagger, scraping the shiny surface it the point of the blade. A thin layer of copper peeled away, with lead beneath. I stared at the coin in disbelief.

"Counterfiet." Corhalt whispered softly. "And I'll wager you got that from a person you trust." I nodded dumbly. Old Bis, the baker I'd bought my bread from ever since I left my Lord Provost's house to be a Puppy.

"It's just as bad as it was before. Worse, even. And we think it's the same source. "

He must have seen sommat in my eye, because he shook his head. "I'm sorry. This doesn't mean you can rejoin the Guard. If it's not the same-- well, the Kingdom couldn't stand up to _two_ counterfeitings of this magnitude."

I looked down at the table.

"But there is something vitally important you can do to help, if your willing." At my nod, he continued. "The only thing we know about this counterfeiter is that he hates you, wants to make you miserable. The Lord Provost told me that you couldn't think of anyone with a grudge to hold against you and the means to do this. So, it's possible that whoever it is is someone you don't remember, or were too young to. The dream rose powder will help you remember. It could be the crucial bit of information that helps us take care of this, for once and ever. Are you willing?"

For a long moment, I stared at the tabletop, tracing the grain of the wood. At last, I said, quietly so that no one should hear that aughtn't to,"Sir, I only want to do my best for the city-folk. And it seems to me that this is a way I could do that." I picked up the phial and brush. "How do I use it?"

Relief flicked in Corhalt's eyes before he could wipe them blank again. Had he been worried that I would refuse? There were some who wouldn't take the chance, who'd force something this important. he handed me a slip of paper.

"You had best leave now," he said. "You don't want to hear what we have to discuss now. I understand you have a brother who's a messenger. Send word to me through him if you can't come yourself. Thank you. You'll make a fine Dog yet, but," a hint of a smile, "If you ever need work, I always need new recruits with a head on their shoulders and thier heart in the right place. Gods all bless."

I ducked my head so hide my blush. Under the table, a soft black paw padded my knee. Pounce was obviously ready to leave.

I said goodbye to Tunstall, Goodwin, and Lady Sabine, and made my way home through the now all but impenetrable snow.

There is nothing so blissful as a warm, dry pair of stockings after walking half an hour in the cold. My face felt like it had been scrubbed raw from the snow. I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, pounce curled on my stomach, when I heard a peculiar noise from the room below.

_Thud, thud, clang. Stomp. Thud thud._

I sat up, tumbling a protesting Pounce off my lap. The room beneath mine was Aniki's, and that could only be her sword.

I tumbled down the stairs so quickly I almost catapulted straight into the door, and a fine welcome_ that_ would be, dashing my brains out on my friend's door sill. I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. There were voices coming from inside the room, one so obviously Aniki's that I grinned, and the other. . . I almost turned away. I would at _all _enjoy interrupting anything if that was Rosto in there. But no, the voice was too husky to be Rosto. I rapped on the door with my knuckles.

"Aniki?" I called, and the door burst open. All I saw was a grin as big as my own and two sparkling blue eyes afore I was seized in a hug fit to break my ribs.

"Beka!"

"You're home! When did you get back?"

"Only a few hours ago. I had to report to Rosto, then unpack."

"I don't suppose you can tell me what you did?" I asked, not very hopefully.

She shook her head. "But I can tell you who I _met_. Curin!" She called into her room. "Come meet Beka, our upstairs neighbor!"

Before I had time to think about anything that she'd said, a tall cove came out. he had tangled brow hair, warm dark eyes and a sword at his belt. He was handsome enough, as they go, but he had an air to him, as if he could see everything around him.

Aniki flourished her hand dramatically. "Rebakah Cooper, this is Curin Fletcher, more commenly and less kindly known as the Wastrel Cur."

Curin smiled. "You can guess what my mother thought of me. "

I smiled and let my hair swing forward. Cowardly and shy.

"Have you you seen it out there?" Aniki asked, gesturing to the window, which looked as it it had been painted white.

I nodded. "I doesn't look like either Dogs or Rats will be out tonight."

"Oh lovely. Another storm to set us baying at the moon."

After a few more minutes, I left them be.

What did Rosto think of all this? After all, Kora had left him, now Aniki. I remembered what had happened when Mama left her man for another. He'd beaten her black and blue for it. I shook my head hard. Why did I always judge Rosto by the rushers who'd been mean to Mama. When Kora started lolligagging about with Ersken, I remembered how he'd actually been pleased that Kora had someone she loved as more then just a friend now.

I'm going to take a nap now, I'm still tired from the healing I had yesterday, as well as trudging about in all this curst snow.

And I must remember to get Kora or Aniki to help me with the dream rose powder. The instructions -- oh, hang the instructions for now. I'm going to sleep.

Written afore Midnight.

I turned out to be right about no one being out tonight. Rosto sent the Court to their various homes in the mid-afternoon so they would actually make it. We all had dinner downstairs in the empty common room. Gafell provided his usual feast, but refused to eat with us, preferring to skulk about in his kitchen.

I must have been more tired then I thought, because I fell asleep at the table. Too soon I felt someone shake my arm.

"Beka," Rosto said, amusement thick in his voice. "If you sleep at the table, you'll be stiff in the morning."

"'M stiff already." With and effoort, I dragged myself back to consciousness, and looked blearily around the common room. It was empty except for Rosto and me. Something nagged at the back of my mind. Curse it all! I'd forgotten to ask Kora or Aniki to help me with the dream rose powder. There was nothing for it now. I asked Rosto. Looking intrigued, He followed me up the stairs.

Carefully I explained how he should use the brush to dust my upper lip with the powder so I would breath it in.

"And you'll just fall asleep and dream whatever it is this Corhalt wants to find out? " he asked, a bit skeptically.

"Not right away. It'll work when I decide to go to sleep, and I have to concentrate on what it is I need to know."

Still not convinced, he shrugged, and pulled the chair from my desk over to beside to bed. I lay down, and he dipped the brush into the phial.

After a few minute's work, Rosto asked, "How does it feel?"

I considered a moment. "It tickles."

He laughed. "I can see why you need help to do this. It would be painfully awkward to do on your own. There. That's the last of it."

I stood. "Thank you, Rosto."

In one of those quicker-then-thought movements of his, he pulled me against him and kissed me. I tried to summon up some anger, some righteous indignation, but I could seem to find any. I liked his kisses too much, liked _him_ too much. A pleasant tingling ran down my spin, and I couldn't help but kiss him back.

It seemed like a long time before we broke apart, but it couldn't have been more then a minute. I blinked at him, my thoughts completely scattered.

"For your birthday," he told me, breathing just a little harder then usual.

I managed to choke out, "My birthday was yesterday!"

He nodded. "So it was. " Smiling, he said, "goodnight," Pressed one more kiss to my lips, and was gone.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared at the opposite wall. Pounce emerged from under the bed and climbed, purring, onto my lap.

I shook myself, trying to rid my head of the thoughts running rampant through it. "No need to look so smug, " I told my cat. He purred, once again, smugly.

I smiled unwillingly. "What am I going to do about him." But it wasn't a question, because I knew that I had to be the one who found the answer.

_Write your journal,_ my sage cat advised, _and go to bed. _After a pointed pause, he added, _and be sure you're_ _consontrating on the counterfeiting. Judging from just now your. . . easily distracted. _

"Curst cat," I muttered as he slipped away. But he was right. For a few minutes, I'd completely forgotten about what I was supposed to be doing.

And now, I'm off to sleep. It has been a long day.


	12. Dawn after Dreaming

**Greetings!**

**I guess I wasn't really very clear about what happened with the dream rose powder. She inhaled it (gross, I know, but I couldn't shake the idea, so there it is.) **

** Enjoy reading!**

**Sir Gwydion**

**P.S. If anyone is interested in how wildly different from the original idea I had this story is, read _Catch As Catch Can _and_ Gapskipping and Ice,_ pieces of plot that didn't work with the final outline. They were lots of fun to write!**

**P.P.S. I've also started writing a Beka-Rosto story called _Dreaming of You. _It's main idea actual came from this chapter. _  
_**

**P.P.P.S. I just realized how long its been since I updated this story -- too long. What can I say? This chapter wasn't an easy one to write.**

**P.P.P.P.S. Don't you hate it when people write so many post scripts that they're longer then the actual thing that was written? (Looks sheepish and changes the subject)  
**

Sunday, December 20, 246

Before dawn.

My head is still ringing. I cannot begin to comprehend what I dreamed. I feel as though I'm missing something so important that I aught to have realized it long ago, but it won't come. Mayhap I'll understand better if I write it out, like the Dogs do on their reports for Ahuda. That's it. I'll write just like it happens, _then _maybe I'll have something to tell Corhalt other then 'It was the queerest thing I've ever felt.'

I concentrated as hard as I could on counterfeit, and the mage I saw too. (I aught to have told Reemest Corhalt about she yesterday, I'm a ducknob for not remembering to.) I couldn't fall asleep though. I finally gave up and sat at my desk, turning the fake coin Corhalt had discovered yesterday in my hand, turning it over and over till the curl of metal cut my palm. Pounce was sleeping as soundly as he always does, though I suspect that he has on eye on me, even when he's asleep.

Finally I fell asleep at my desk, my cheek sticking to the pages of this journal.

In my dream, the silence seemed to be very loud, or mayhap it was just my ears ringing, because there were other noises. Regular, Lower City noises; boots on the cobbles, course laughter, haggling, arguing.

And a little girl singing as she skipped rope with a length of knotted rags.

_"Three bold sailor, late come from the sea,_

_Telling a tale of how bold they be,_

_ Two were blind and the other couldn't see,_

_ And they told tell of the wonders over-sea._

.

_They told of the fair land, called Dream-a-bye,_

_ They swore, they did, that they told no lie,_

_ About the orange sea and purple sky,_

_ And the lovely blue sea-birds' haunting cry."_

I remembered the rhyme well, had sung it myself often. Mama taught it to us, and others. Skipping-songs. And then I saw that the little girl was my sister, Diona, afore her mouth soured and brows tilted down. She had the best singing voice in the family, mayhap because her father was a player before he turned to being a rusher.

The door to the one-room house that was little more then a hovel rattled, and Haynsen staggered out. He was mama's man when I was eight, then meanest one she ever had. When he found out that she had the lung-rot, he beat her up and ran off to his gang. The Bold Brass Gang. He stuck Diona across the mouth, and she fell, crying out. He didn't do it in anger or because he'd drunk more then was good for him. It was the kind of unthinking, cold cruelty that I've always hated in a person more then anything else. It dosen't feel, it just hurts, and that makes it worse.

A young girl with long, tousled blond hair came out of the house and helped Diona to pick herself up. For a moment I had the oddest feeling that I aught to remember her, the I realized that she was me. like looking in a perfect mirror, or a window to the past.

The whole scene jolted sideways and I felt dizzy as it changed from Mutt Piddle Lane to somewhere else that I didn't know. There was the blond little girl again, crouched behind a wall, listening to two men talk. One was Haynsen, the other I didn't recognize at first, until his name was spoke. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes and a savage grace about him.

"I don't know, Cavic. I don't like that man's past. He's dealt double every day of his life, and he'll double deal you too." Haynsen said, and then I knew who the other man was. Cavic of the Bold Brass Gang, its leader, and as slippery a Rat as the Provost's Guard has ever had to deal with.

Cavic laughed, and it was a frightning sound. The little girl shivered.

"A cove can't deal double when he's been dealt the was himself already."

"You mean, you're going to kill him? Kill Wenton Par?"

The girl shivered again. I could remember the feeling of ice rolling down my spine and my stomach lurching. Wenton Par was nearly as bad a Crookshank, and a sight better known in Corus. He didn't limit his deeds to the Lower City.

"Yes. Tonight, when the Dog Watch changes from Evening to Night. Spread the news."

Cavic strode off into a dark alleyway, and Haynsen paused before walking toward the girl's hiding place. Terrified of being discovered, she buried her face in her ragged cloak and didn't look up. Haynsen glanced down at her, then delivered an idle kick to her side. "Mumper," he said scornfully, and the street lurched again, and was gone.

Next came a whirl of images, going to Dogs, telling them I could give them the Bold Brass Gang, then even to the Kennel itself when none would hear me. But the Day Watch Commander just looked at me, and looked and looked, and then told one of the Cage Dogs to throw me out.

Then, when I'd given up, seeing my Lord Provost, and telling him about the Gang's plans for the night. And he listened.

That night, he brought down the Bold Brass Gang, for good and ever.

Next came the hanging on Executioner's Hill. The smell that made me wretch and the sickening way that everyone seemed to enjoy the sight of those men dying. I didn't like it, but I knew that the Bold Brass Gang had known what they were doing was wrong and they'd known the punishment, and they'd done it anyway.

Images from the crowd bloomed in my mind. Two mots with dark hair, smiling strangely. A cove with a short beard and beady eyes selling sticky sugar candy. A little boy making faces at the men waiting to hang.

There was sommat else that just won't come clear in my mind. It was there, a ballad of some sort, sung in the streets weeks later when no one remembered the cruel things the gang had done, only how dashing they'd been. A ballad about the Bold Brass Gang . . .

I wish I could remember! But I spent eight years trying to forget how awful that time was. It won't come back.

My head is aching fit to burst. I feel sick. I'm going to go wake Kora. She'll be able to tell me whether I'm dying. I feel like it.


	13. Author's note II

**Hi! **

**I'm going to be away for a few days, but I'll be back Thursday and I really truly promise to write a new chapter as soon as I'm settled. If, by weekend after next, there are no updates, I give you all full permission to be horrendously angry with me. **

**In the meantime, _Dream_ers, have fun! And you _Bloodhound on the Scent_ers, keep out of trouble! **

**You'll be hearing from me soon via Fan Fiction!**

**Sir Gwydion**


	14. Author's Note III

**I have been a miserable writer to all of you, and I deserve every indignant PM and outraged review that I've received. **

**I'm going to do my best to continue with this story.** **I've just started high school (yes, even homeschoolers get high school), and I really wasn't anticipating the upswing in work. That's no excuse though. I could at least have posted this author's not long before this. **

**I won't be able to update often, every 1-2 weeks at best, and maybe not so often as that, but I will try to keep going. You can expect an update as soon as I find a spare minute to hunt up my outline and get to it. **

**Your apologetic writer,**

**Sir Gwydion**


End file.
